


Ceniciento, or, The Perfect Fit

by AmyViolet, Gleeville



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Sex, Blam endgame, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Magic, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 74,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5131160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyViolet/pseuds/AmyViolet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gleeville/pseuds/Gleeville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinderella AU with Sam as the prince and Blaine as Cinderella. But with a lot more smut than the original. Set in a modern, strangely  American-like fictional kingdom!</p>
<p>From a GKM prompt: "Cinderella AU where Sam is the prince and Blaine is Cinderella. The ball is a masked ball, and instead of just dancing together at it they fuck. Blaine tops. Sam makes it his mission to find the guy and marry him, and the only way to do that is to get fucked by everyone to find out whose dick fits him perfectly like the stranger at the ball."</p>
<p>A note on the character and relationship tags: This work features a lot of characters from Glee and we're not attempting to tag them all. The only ones who are tagged are characters who are featured in a sex scene or are members of Blaine's step-family. Likewise, if there's a relationship tag, it means there is at least one sex scene between the characters; we haven't tagged for every couple that exists in the story (Sam's parents, for example, or Quinn/Finn and Brittany/Santana). If you'd like to see which pairings are in which chapter, you can refer to the responses to the <a href="http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/51636.html?thread=65441460#t65441460">GKM prompt</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Salagadoola Mechicka Boola

Once upon a time there was a boy named Blaine whose father loved him very much. And Blaine loved his father very much, and although they both missed Blaine's mother, who died when he was very little, they were happy together.

But Blaine's father felt the boy needed a mother. And...he himself was lonely. And so he remarried.

"I don't like new mom," Blaine said as he watched his father adjust his tie before the ceremony. "She doesn't smell nice like my real mom." Blaine didn't actually remember much about his real mom except the private songs she used to sing to him that only the two of them knew and her clean, fresh scent. It was enough, though, to know that new mom was nothing like her.

"Shelby smells different, is all," his father assured him. 

Blaine suddenly had a memory of his mother, clearer than any he'd had in a long time. "I remember my real mom smiling and laughing and holding me in her lap and kissing my head. Lots and lots of kisses, all over my head and face."

His father smiled at that memory before his face turned serious again. "Your new mother might not be that demonstrative yet, but she will take care of you and love you. Plus you'll have a brother and sister to play with now."

"She doesn't love me. And Jesse and Rachel are gonna be mean to me."

"I'll never let anyone be mean to you, squirt."

But they were mean to him. Right in the middle of the ceremony, right when Blaine's dad was saying, "For richer or for poorer..." that brat Rachel reached over and pinched him _hard_. And when he yelped, his new mom gave him this look like _he_ was the one who did something bad.

And Blaine's dad didn't stop any of it.

He said later that he was sorry, that he was distracted by the wedding and didn't know what was going on. And usually he paid more attention and stopped Rachel from pinching or kicking him, and stopped Jesse from stealing his best toys and breaking them. But he couldn't pay attention _all_ the time. 

And then one day Blaine's father was gone. An accident, just like his mother had had. Blaine only got to see him one more time, in his coffin, and he couldn't talk or smile or move any more, ever again. And after the funeral Blaine had to go home with new mom, who never, ever stood up for him when Jesse and Rachel were mean to him. That very night, in fact, Jesse tore the head of Blaine's favorite teddy bear and best friend in the whole world, and he didn't even get in trouble for it.

.

Shelby knew there was something wrong with Matt's boy. She had always known. She didn't say anything when Matt was alive because he was so touchy about his son. But the stress of being a young widow left her with very little patience for the boy. Especially when her own two children were so demanding.

As well they should be, of course. They were both immensely talented and had the potential to go far. And, as she always taught them, you don't get anything in this life by waiting around for it. You have to demand your due.

Matt's boy, though. He was a pushover, which was a trait she had nothing but contempt for. And there was something else...

She realized what the other thing was when they were watching the royal wedding on TV. The fact that he begged to be allowed to watch with her and Rachel should have been her first clue: boys weren't usually interested in that sort of thing. Jesse certainly felt he had better things to do. But Blaine had begged, and he'd done extra chores all week, and so Shelby for once gave into him, on the conditions that he sit on the floor so she and Rachel could stretch out on the sofa and that he keep his mouth shut the whole time.

But he didn't keep his mouth shut. When Prince-to-Be Finn appeared on screen for the first time, dressed in the traditional regalia, Blaine squealed and gushed, "He's so handsome! Princess Quinn is so lucky!"

And that was it. 

Blaine had no other family, and the law said Shelby was stuck with him. But if she'd felt any qualms about not treating him as an equal of her own children (as if he were even in the same ballpark!) they were gone when she realized he was a little queer.

.

Prince Samuel didn't want a ball. 

The last three summers his parents had suggested one, and all three times he had successfully talked them into waiting another year. This time, though, it looked like they were really going to insist.

"You're almost twenty-one," his mother pointed out. "This is way overdue."

"No one gets married in their early twenties anymore!"

"Your sister was eighteen!"

_Only because she was already pregnant,_ Sam thought but didn't say. No one thought he knew, just because he was only thirteen at the time. That, and people thought he was stupid. Instead, he argued, "Exactly! And she already has three little princesses, so succession is assured, so—"

"Samuel," his father interrupted, "walk with me."

The king and prince excused themselves to stroll through the gardens, followed at a discreet distance by their respective guards. Several hundred feet from the castle, surrounded by vibrant rose bushes, his father said, "No one is saying you have to find a bride at the ball."

"Oh!" Sam was taken aback and actually wondered whether his father was trying to trick him somehow. "But...isn't that what these balls are for?"

"Traditionally, yes. But you should know that I'm perfectly willing to change certain traditions to keep up with the times." 

This was true. His father—and his mother—had fought tirelessly to change the kingdom's laws so that the crown could be passed down to the eldest child irrespective of gender, for example. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that there had been a complication with Quinn's birth and they didn't think they'd be able to have a second child, but in any case it was the right thing to do. Some in Sam's position might not be happy with the timing of the change, but he had no desire to be king. Being a prince was perfect: it came with all of the perks and none of the responsibilities.

Or, at least, not as many responsibilities. Going through with this damn ball, as his father explained to him, was one that he couldn't get out of anymore. 

"Your mother and I know you're not...I'm going to be frank here, son."

"All right."

"We know you have no desire to settle down, as you're having way too much fun sleeping with half the capital."

Sam blushed. It wasn't much of an exaggeration, but he really thought his parents didn't know.

"And furthermore, we know that...we know that it's the _male_ half."

"Father, I—"

"Let me finish. While I do wish you'd managed to be more...Anyway, that's neither here nor there. The important thing is that none of that has anything to do with the ball. The whole kingdom looks forward to it. It's the only chance most citizens have at setting foot inside the castle. Do you have any idea how many commoners dream that maybe one day they'll get to dance with a prince? Not to mention what a good ball does for the tourism economy? There aren't very many kingdoms like ours left, not in the whole world. It's a fantasy, for lots and lots of people. And you're doing it."

Sam argued and whined and pouted, but eventually he realized the ball was going to happen no matter what he said or did. "Can it at least be a _masked_ ball?" he asked.

The king gripped his forehead as if he were getting a headache. "Why masked?"

"Come on! Masks are cool! We'll all be like superheroes." 

Now his father was massaging his temples. "Fine. Masks."

The king went back inside, followed by his guards. Sam stayed in the garden, waiting for his own guards to catch up with him. "I'm having a ball," he told them.

"Are you being sarcastic, Your Highness?" Ryder asked. "Because it doesn't look like you're having that much fun, if you don't mind my saying so."

"No, I mean..."

"He means a ball like a party. A dance," Jake explained. When the prince wasn't looking he rolled his eyes at his partner and mouthed the word _dumbass_ at him.

"Right. So I guess you dudes are gonna need some evening wear. And masks."

.

"Mom! Mo-o-om!" Rachel's blood-curdling cry rang throughout the house. Shelby ran to her daughter's room, while Blaine closed the door to the bathroom, cringing. He had a feeling he knew what this was all about.

Sure enough, he soon heard his stepmother bellowing, "Blaine! Get in here!"

Removing his cleaning gloves and setting them on the sink, he took a deep breath before answering the summons.

"Yes?" he asked as casually as he could, trying to ignore Jesse's sudden smirking appearance.

Rachel pointed an accusing finger at the poster of Prince Finn on her bedroom wall. Specifically, she pointed an accusing finger at a crease on one of the edges, and a tiny tear. "Care to explain this, _Blaine_?"

It was true. He had ripped her poster. It was totally an accident! Shelby had told him to change the sheets on Rachel's and Jesse's beds before they came home from the conservatory—all the schools in the kingdom were giving students a week's vacation in honor of the prince's ball—and he'd had his arms full with sheets and pillows and things and couldn't even see, really, and then Rachel's cat, Lucifer, had darted out between his legs (on purpose, he would almost swear) and tripped him and he fell against the wall where the poster hung.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. I was just—"

"Were you kissing my poster again?"

"No!" Honestly, Rachel had caught him kissing the Prince Finn poster _once_ , and it was when he was _twelve_ , and she and Jesse still brought it up regularly. Shelby too, sometimes.

"He was probably humping it!" Jesse interjected, sending the three of them into peals of laughter.

"I wasn't!" Blaine protested...pointlessly, because no one could hear him, nor did they care. But it was so unfair! He didn't even _like_ Prince Finn anymore. That is, he didn't dislike him or anything—not that he knew him personally, obviously—but he didn't have a crush on him anymore. 

No, for some time now he'd been much more taken with the dashing Prince Samuel. So gorgeous, so charming. Totally swoonworthy. Not that he _ever_ let on how he felt about Prince Samuel in front of his stepfamily, for obvious reasons.

Blaine tried to back out of the room, but Rachel fixed her eyes on him before he could make his escape. "And you were just going to hope I wouldn't notice!?

"I was going to replace it."

Rachel scoffed. "Good luck finding a copy. They don't make this one anymore. It's _vintage_. I expect the replacement to be mint condition, which this one _was_ until you ruined it."

"There's a vintage shop in the capital that I can try tomorrow."

"You can't go running off to the capital tomorrow!" Shelby told him. "We need you here!"

"Honestly, Blaine, like I'm not under enough stress already," Rachel said. "Between my upcoming duet at the showcase after break—"

"With yours truly," Jesse added.

"Oh!" Shelby squealed. She wrapped an arm around each of her children and gushed, "I'm so proud of you both!"

"And getting ready for the ball..." Rachel added. 

Blaine still wasn't sure how Shelby had managed to secure invitations for Rachel and Jesse. The family wasn't wealthy, and despite the general assumption that Rachel and Jesse would be famous some day, they were completely unknown. They lived in a boring middle-class suburb and barely knew anyone in the capital, much less the royal court. But somehow the two invitations had shown up in the mail, just like Shelby had said all along they would.

And Shelby was determined that Prince Samuel would fall in love with Rachel at first sight and ask her to be his princess. "The ball is _all_ I want you thinking about," she told her daughter. "If all goes well at the ball, you won't even need to worry about school anymore."

"But, mother!" Rachel crossed her arms. "I plan to have a career! Prince Samuel will just have to accept that!"

"Of course, darling!" Shelby stroked Rachel's hair. "But, just...spring that news on him _after_ the wedding."

Rachel glared at her mother indignantly.

"I'm just saying...royals are very conservative. He'll see reason more clearly _after_ you're married. And the king and queen certainly won't want a divorce in the family."

Rachel glanced longingly at the Prince Finn poster and sighed. "I wish _he_ were the one looking for a bride."

"If he were, then marrying him wouldn't make you a princess," Shelby pointed out. "He married into royalty, remember? Just like you're going to."

"Yeah, I guess," Rachel said wistfully.

"Cheer up, sis. You'll still be living in the castle with him. And if you should happen to wander into his room by 'accident' one night, well, who would be the wiser?"

Blaine had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything. Who would even _want_ to cheat on Prince Samuel? Certainly not anybody who deserved to be with him! It just made him so furious, that it was all he could do to remind himself that there was no way the prince would actually ask Rachel to marry him. He really had nothing to worry about.

Except for how Shelby somehow always managed to get what she wanted for her kids.

"I actually think this ball sounds like it's going to be a total bore," Jesse said.

Before he could think better of it, Blaine piped up, "I'll go! In your place. If you don't want to." The thought of being in the same room with Prince Samuel, maybe even shaking his hand, it sent literal shivers through him.

Of course he was shot down immediately. " _You_? At the ball? Don't be absurd," his stepmother said. She laughed dismissively and then turned to her son. "It might be a bore, but it's a great opportunity for you too. All the unattached young women from the best families in the kingdom will be there. Plus music industry executives I'll bet. You're graduating soon, and you need to start networking your butt off."

"Oh no!" Rachel clutched dramatically at her throat. "Oh no, I feel a tickle!"

"It's okay, honey," Shelby said, stroking her hair soothingly. "Don't panic."

"But what if the prince wants me to sing at the ball?"

"Oh my god, you're right. Blaine, get your sister some lemon water. Chop-chop!"

Blaine was happy, actually, to be sent from the room, even if it was on a bullshit errand for his "sister."

That small satisfaction disappeared, however, after Rachel took a sip of the water. "Are these Meyer lemons? No, I can't have that."

.

They did go into the capital the next day, not to the vintage shop, but to an exclusive and very expensive dress shop. As soon as Blaine saw someone getting out of a limo and walking in, he stopped in his tracks. "Shelby, I don't think we can afford—"

"Don't you dare ruin this for your sister with your petty provincialism!" Shelby snapped at him.

"Yeah, but..." But Blaine had already been forced to take a second job just to keep up the mortgage payments; all the money his father had left them was long gone, and most of Shelby's money was going to support Jesse and Rachel at the conservatory. And after Jesse graduated in the spring the student loan payments would come due, and Blaine somehow doubted that Shelby would expect Jesse to pay them back on his own.

"Do you expect her to snag a prince wearing something she got at the _mall_?"

"I could probably buy a used car with what one of these dresses costs."

"Look, do you want Rachel to marry the prince or not?"

No, of course he didn't! She would make poor Prince Samuel miserable. Of course, Blaine couldn't say this. Instead he said, "I'm just not sure an expensive dress is going to be the prince's number one criterion for choosing a bride."

"Just listen to yourself, Blaine! You keep saying _dress_ , like she's just going to some sorority party. Your sister needs a _gown_ for the ball, Blaine. A _gown_. I only let you come with us because your type is supposed to be so knowledgeable about fashion. I can see that thinking you'd be knowledgeable about anything was a huge mistake on my part."

"Apparently," Blaine agreed. Yes, he was gay, but he owned three pairs of pants, four t-shirts, and two sweaters. And if he ever thought of trying to get Shelby to allow him to spend money on himself, it wouldn't be for clothes.

"Just...keep your mouth shut when we get inside and don't embarrass us."

"Maybe it would be better if he waited in the car," Rachel suggested.

So Blaine was sent back to the car. Shelby neglected to leave him the keys, however, so he had to just stand there in the parking lot, leaning against it, shivering in his light sweater and wishing he'd worn the heavy one.

Suddenly—Blaine didn't see where he came from or anything—but suddenly there was a man there with him. Not just with him, but sitting on the hood of the car, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. "You're underdressed, poor thing," the man said.

"Who...what..." Blaine sputtered.

"I can't stand to see a handsome man underdressed."

"Are...are you from the dress...I mean, the gown store?"

The man laughed. "Hardly. I'm here to rescue you."

Blaine stared at him blankly.

"From the chill. Buy you a cup of coffee?"

Was this guy hitting on him? Blaine had never been hit on before—he really didn't get out much—but he was pretty sure it looked something like this. And yet, that didn't seem to be it.

While Blaine was continuing to stare dumbly, the man made a sprightly dismount off the car and started walking toward the parking lot exit. Over his shoulder he called, "Come on, Blaine. Shelby and Rachel are going to be busy for hours."

It was the strangest thing about the way this guy was walking. He didn't seem to be in any hurry—he seemed to be gliding more than walking—and yet Blaine had to run just to catch up to him by the time they were outside the coffee shop down the block. "How did you..." he had to stop to catch his breath.

The man patted his shoulder and led him to an empty table. "Sit," he said soothingly. "And I'll answer your very reasonable questions after I've gotten our drinks."

No sooner had Blaine settled into his chair than the man was back, two steaming coffees in hand. "Here, have a mocha. I know you don't normally drink them, but you should. They're delicious."

Blaine took a sip and burned his tongue.

"Sorry," the man said, passing him an ice water, which Blaine was pretty sure wasn't there before. "Should have warned you about that."

Blaine let an ice cube melt on his tongue, not taking his eyes off the man. He wanted to see how he did whatever impossible thing he was going to do next.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" the guy finally said.

"Ask you what?"

"The obvious."

"How do you know...How did you..."

"There we go! My name is Kurt, and I really must apologize for not coming to see you sooner. It's no excuse, given your level of need, but I really do have an awful lot of boys assigned to me."

"That doesn't really answer my question."

"You are a feisty one, aren't you? With me, anyway. I'm not sure why can't show this level of spirit with that awful so-called family of yours. Besides, technically you didn't really ask a question. But, yes, I know what you were getting at, of course, and so I'll skip to the answer. My name is Kurt, and I'm your fairy godmother."

"Fairy godmother," Blaine repeated, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Surely you've heard of fairy godmothers before."

"You're a man."

"Pfft," Kurt said with a dismissive hand wave. "Young people today. Always so literal."

"Oh. _Oh_ ," Blaine said, an embarrassed laugh escaping. "I'm sorry. I...yeah, I actually thought you meant, like, that you were literally a fairy. With, like, magical powers and stuff. Wow. I can't believe I thought you were serious for a second."

"No, no," Kurt said, taking one of Blaine's hands in both of his and looking at him earnestly. "By which I mean, yes. That part is literally true. The part that's only figuratively true is the godmother part. Because, as you've noticed, I'm male. Though I wouldn't say _man_ per se, as that implies a human..."

"Okay." Blaine stood up. "This has been nice, but...how much do I owe you for the mocha?"

"Sit down, Blaine. If I'm not your fairy godmother, then how do I know about Rachel throwing a fit over her cheap poster and Jesse saying that you were humping it?"

Blaine froze. But then he realized: "Jesse must have told you. And now he's setting me up for some elaborate prank..."

"Then how do I know it's really Prince Sam who you like?"

"I don't. I mean, so what if I did? Everyone likes Prince Samuel. He seems like...you know, like a nice guy. Like someone who'd be fun to go get a beer with."

"Mmm, he is," Kurt agreed. "He's even _more_ fun to do tequila shots with. But let's not get into _that_ right now. How about this?"

Blaine waited. Kurt hummed to himself for a few seconds before he started singing quietly: "Salagadoola mechicka boola..." 

He paused, and Blaine joined in with: "Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo." 

Blaine fell back into his chair. "How did you..."

"I've been trying to tell you, Blaine," Kurt said gently.

"But my mom used to sing me that song, and _no one_ else knows it. I always thought she made it up!"

"She did."

"So you..." It didn't make any sense, what Kurt was claiming. But he didn't know how else to explain how he could know that song. "So you've really been watching me my whole life?" he whispered.

"Yes!" Kurt said, smiling. 

"I thought fairy godmothers were supposed to help their...their godchildren."

"Yes, exactly! That's why I'm here."

"If you're supposed to help me then why did you let them die?" Blaine shouted. Everyone turned to stare, but he didn't care. "What the fuck kind of fairy godmother are you anyway if you just watched them die? _That's_ when I could have used some fucking help!"

"Oh, sweetie." Kurt tried to take Blaine's hand, but Blaine yanked it away. "Fairy godmothers' powers aren't nearly that strong. We can see everything, but when it comes to _doing_ things, it's mostly just parlor tricks. Conjuring stuff, that kind of thing." A plate of buttermilk scones appeared on the table.

"You could have at least talked to me before now," Blaine said, through tears. "You could have been my friend or something, couldn't you? I've been all alone for almost my whole life."

"Ye-eah. I really am sorry, Blaine. I know I should spend more time with orphans who need me than with hot blond...but, Blaine, fairies have needs too!"

Blaine didn't even look up. If this jerk was just going to talk about his own needs, it was hard to see how he was any different than Rachel or Jesse. (Though they wouldn't have given him a mocha or a plate of scones, even if they could conjure them out of thin air.)

"Anyway," Kurt said chipperly, "I'm here to help you now. You have to listen to me, Blaine, and get out of that house. Your stepmother is awful, and she's killing your spirit."

Blaine waited. Kurt didn't seem inclined to go on. Finally Blaine said, "That's it?"

"Yes!"

"That's not even a parlor trick! That's advice. It's _obvious_ advice. You think I don't know that she's killing my spirit? You think I don't know that I have to get out? Now I think the scones really were just a parlor trick. Were they up your sleeve or something?" 

"They certainly were not!"

"You could at least conjure me a house or something, if you want me to move out so bad."

Kurt shook his head. "We can't do anything big and obvious. There are so many regulations...you'd be amazed."

"Regulations. Of course." Blaine picked up one of the scones and, out of curiosity more than anything, took a small bite. It was delicate and flaky and quite literally the most delicious thing he had ever tasted.

Kurt grinned with satisfaction. "It's good, right? I know I'm a crap fairy godmother in a lot of ways, but when I'm good, I'm very, very good."

Blaine nodded and gulped down the rest of the scone. He took another and tried to savor this one, knowing he wouldn't eat anything this good again for a long, long time. If ever. He thought about asking his fairy godmother to conjure him some more to take home and put in the freezer. Shelby and Rachel and Jesse wouldn't even notice them—he did all the cooking, so they hardly ever went in the freezer anyway, and especially not now that they were so preoccupied with the...

"Conjure me an invitation to the prince's ball!"

Kurt raised an eyebrow. 

"That's not big or obvious," Blaine pointed out. "Lots of commoners will be there. And anyway, it's a masked ball."

"Yes, that would be well within the regulations. But, Blaine. How does going to the ball help you get out of your stepmother's house?"

"Well. There will be lots of single women there, some of them wealthy, and—"

Kurt chuckled. "Blaine, Blaine, Blaine. You forget that I know everything. You also don't seem to realize that boys who like girls don't get fairy godmothers like me."

"I just meant—"

"It's fine." Kurt drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table. It wasn't a long-term solution to Blaine's problems, but getting Blaine laid certainly couldn't hurt. In a way it was the least Kurt could do, after he really hadn't been there for him. "Okay," he announced. "I'll get you to the prince's balls."

"He's throwing more than one?" Blaine asked.

"Oh, you're too precious."

.

Sam never brought men to his own bedroom at the palace, so it was disorienting to be woken up before sunrise by another person in his bed. But just momentarily. "Well, if it isn't my favorite fairy godmother!" he said, pulling the sheets back to reveal a very naked and already very hard Kurt.

Kurt stretched, arching his back so his dick stood up even more. "I wouldn't want you to miss your weekly injection."

"Best part of my week," Sam agreed, his own dick starting to harden. It wasn't always literally the _best_ part, but he did always enjoy it. The weekly injections had been going on for...well, since Sam started sleeping around a lot, so over five years now. The first time was at boarding school. Sam had made it back to his room just in time for curfew after sneaking into town with some friends to see a movie. He would have made it back sooner, but he stayed after the movie to hook up with the cute concessions guy.

And there was Kurt, sitting on his bed, waiting for him. Sam hadn't seen him in a few years, not since he first discovered he had a fairy godmother. He'd come that first time to explain to Sam that, yes, the feelings he was having meant he was gay, and, yes, that was perfectly fine.

Now he looked stern, though. Not comforting like the first time. "You're going to get yourself killed, the way you're going," Kurt informed him.

"Um." Sam glanced toward the door. Curfew check was any second, and being a prince really didn't get him any special leeway for stuff like having unauthorized visitors in his room (which totally sucked). "Can you hide or something?"

Kurt rolled his eyes, but he vanished just in time, just before Mr. Schuester knocked.

"I'm here!" Sam said, throwing open the door.

"You and who else?" his housemaster asked, peering around.

"Just me, of course." Sam stepped aside so Mr. Schuester could come in. "Everyone else is in their own room. I mean, I should hope so anyway. Otherwise they're breaking curfew."

Mr. Schuester came in and checked. He checked in the closet and behind the curtains and even under the bed. He knew the prince was up to something, but he couldn't prove anything, so he wished him a good night and went on to check the next room.

Kurt reappeared as soon as Sam was alone again. "You're a prince," he lectured. "You can't go around fucking strange men in movie theater restrooms.

"He didn't know who I was!" Sam protested. "I was wearing a trucker hat and sunglasses."

"Wow, that's almost as good a disguise as Clark Kent's."

"Better," Sam said. "Clark Kent wears regular glasses and no trucker hat."

"Just listen to yourself!"

Sam crossed his arms and flopped down petulantly onto his bed. "You told me it was okay to be gay."

"It _is_ okay to be gay. It's okay to be gay and slutty. You just need to start using some common sense. You don't even use condoms!"

Sam scrunched up his nose. "I tried them and I hate them."

Kurt sighed and sat down next to him on the bed. "Yeah. I hate them too. Of course, fairies don't have to worry about STDs."

"Must be nice," Sam said.

Kurt looked Sam up and down. "I _could_ help you, actually. Share my immunity with you."

Sam's face lit up. "You could? Do it, then." Kurt hesitated, so Sam added, "I command you!"

Kurt laughed. "I'm not one of your subjects. You don't get to command me."

"Oh. Right. Well, then...please?"

"You want my..." Kurt took Sam's hand and slowly brought it toward himself, giving Sam plenty of time to resist if he had been so inclined, and placed it over the bulge in his pants. "You want my fairy injection?"

Sam might have laughed at the words _fairy injection_ , but there was nothing funny about what he was feeling. It was so hard and so _big_. Before tonight he had only slept with his schoolmates, boys his own age, and none of them were this big. He swallowed hard and asked, "Where would you, uh...give it to me?"

"You know where." Kurt spoke softly into his ear. "The same place you give it to your little school friends."

"But..." It was hard to deny that the idea was turning him on, but it didn't seem right. "But I'm royalty."

"So?" Kurt asked. Sam hadn't moved his hand away, and Kurt rubbed against it.

"So...a prince shouldn't take it in the ass."

"Well, that's your hang up. If you don't want it, that's up to you. But I will remind you again that to me you're just another human."

"That's true," Sam said.

"If anything, you should be kneeling before me."

And the suggestion was somehow so appealing to Sam that he found himself doing just that. He sank to his knees as Kurt stood in front of him and placed a hand on his head. Kurt's pants came open all on their own, and there was the prettiest cock Sam had ever seen. Not that he'd seen _that_ many yet, but it was so pink and perfect and...big. Really, really big. Not sure which answer he was hoping for, he asked, "Will it hurt?"

"It'll feel amazing," Kurt promised, and Sam believed him.

Sam had sucked a couple guys' dicks before (never on his knees though!), but he knew he wasn't really good at it yet. He really, really wanted to be good for Kurt, though. Especially after he got his first taste! It was somehow sweet and meaty at the same time, even though it wasn't like food at all, it was like...like...the only thing Sam ever wanted in his mouth again, even if it meant he would starve to death. He sucked on it greedily until Kurt pushed his head away. "You can have an oral injection another time," he said. "But now I want your ass."

Sam peered up at him and nodded earnestly. He didn't even care about the STD protection or whatever, he just wanted Kurt's dick inside him. He clambered to his feet—vaguely aware that all his clothes had disappeared—and bent over the bed, the same position he liked to put his friends in before taking them.

He felt Kurt massaging his ass with something slippery, and then a strong, pleasant scent that he couldn't quite place hit him. "Dude, is that..."

"Don't ever call me dude, sweetie," Kurt said. "And it's coconut oil."

For a second that struck Sam as a very strange thing to be rubbing into his ass, but he quickly decided: "I like it!"

"Mm-hmm," Kurt agreed. "I find it much more sensual than _lube_." He slid an oil-slick finger up inside Sam's ass and added, "Of course, you can't use oil with condoms. Thank heavens that's not a problem for us."

"Fuck yeah," Sam gasped.

The finger in his ass became two. By the time two became three, he felt almost ready to come undone. When the fingers were removed he felt bereft, but then he felt that magnificent cock pressing up against his entrance instead. "Yes," he said. "Please."

Kurt pressed in slowly—the deflowering of a boy as beautiful as this prince was not only an experience to be savored, it was also a sacred responsibility. It had to be done respectfully, delicately...

"Harder, dude! Come on!"

Okay, then.

Sam didn't expect Kurt to start fucking him quite so hard quite so suddenly. It wasn't just his ass that was filled with _cock_ , but it was like his whole being was consumed with it. It was, just as Kurt had promised, amazing. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," he chanted.

Kurt knew he should have gone easier on the boy, but he just couldn't. Not with how warm and tight and perfect he was. And certainly not with how desperate he sounded. 

Sam felt a tension building deep inside himself. It didn't start in his dick, and so he didn't recognize what it was until the orgasm was ripping through him, rendering him a shrieking, trembling mess. Just as his tremors were dying down, Kurt's "injection" blasted into that sensitive, secret spot buried within, setting off a series of aftershocks.

Jake heard screams from the prince's bedroom next door. He sprang out of bed, grabbing his weapon from the night stand, and rushed through the connecting door. There he saw the prince, naked, face down on the bed, ass hanging over the edge. "Your Highness! Where's the assailant?" He knew, of course, that the prince had become sexually active with other boys of late. He also knew that the prince had a distinct preference for not being the one in this particular position.

"Jake," Sam muttered happily, not bothering to lift his head. "I'm fine. It was _so good_."

"So you're telling me this was consensual?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed.

"Where is...he?"

"I guess he disappeared. He's a fairy."

Jake didn't comment on the gay slur, guessing the prince meant it affectionately. He draped a blanket over the prince, who didn't seem inclined to move, and said, "Your Highness, may I speak frankly?"

"Go ahead, dude."

"If you're going to be doing...this...in the dorms, I'd suggest you try to keep the noise level down. I can protect you from a lot of things, but getting expelled isn't one of them."

Kurt reappeared as soon as Jake had gone. "He's right, you know. Also, I should warn you: don't let other guys fuck you that hard right away. I used a charm so it won't hurt until tomorrow, but—"

"Can you use the charm every time you give me my injection?"

"Um...yeah, of course, but I'm talking about with other guys."

"Then there's nothing to worry about. I'm not going to let anyone _beneath_ me do that to me."

"Well, that's up to you. You sure seemed to like it, though."

"But I'm a prince."

Kurt thought the young prince would change his mind after reflecting on what he was missing out on, but he never did: Sam never took it in the ass from anyone else. Kurt, on the other hand, didn't have any hangups about bottoming for an inferior, so there was plenty of variety to what became their weekly assignations.

This week Kurt suggested, "I was thinking you might be due for an oral injection."

"Were you, now?" Sam knew Kurt had a thing for his mouth—lots of guys did—and he gave him his best flirty, crooked smile that showed off the fullness of his lips and just a little bit of tongue. "I'd be happy to take it in my mouth. But first..." He flipped Kurt onto his stomach and spread his legs apart. Sam liked blowjobs as much as the next guy, but it hardly seemed worth getting woken up this early without someone getting fucked.

Kurt groaned and squirmed against the mattress. For however many hundreds of years old he was—and Sam was never able to pin him down on an exact age—he was like a perpetual teenager in terms of horniness.

"Oil?" Sam asked.

Kurt gestured at the bedside table, where a jar of coconut oil, already warmed to body temperature, appeared. Sam dipped his fingers into the jar, gathering a generous amount to coat his lover with. He tended to drag this part out a little longer than necessary whenever he was preparing to fuck Kurt, just because he so loved watching the beautiful fairy writhe and wriggle impatiently on his fingers.

"Sam..." Kurt never begged. He was a magical being, for crying out loud. But the plaintive tone in his voice when he said _Sam_ wasn't entirely dissimilar to begging.

He groaned, low and throaty, when the prince finally slid his cock into him. 

And Sam groaned too. So it wasn't like Kurt was taking advantage of his own godchild. Or, at least, it wasn't entirely like that.

Sam knew that Kurt could take as rough a fucking as he cared to give. But it was early and he was still a little sleepy, and so he fucked him languorously. Slowly but deeply, hitting all the spots that drove Kurt crazy. It was enough to push him right up to the edge, but not quite enough to push him over it.

"Baby..."

"You like that, Kurt?"

"Yes, but...I need to come, sweetie!" Kurt tried to grind up harder onto Sam's cock, but Sam was holding him in place too firmly.

Sam sucked a spot on his neck before whispering in his ear, reminding him, "You can't come yet anyway. You have to save it for my oral injection."

Kurt groaned again, but this time it was in exasperation.

Sam knew not to push him too hard, or he would just disappear—literally—and get some other guy to take care of him, leaving no one to take care of Sam but his own hand. And anyway, Sam needed to come now too. Kurt's begging always did that to him.

_Finally_ Sam started drilling him hard. Kurt bit down on and screamed into a down pillow.

"Oh, god, Kurt!" Something about Kurt's screams got him every time, and soon he was filling Kurt's ass with his come.

Limp and relaxed, he let Kurt push him off and roll him over onto his back. Kurt knelt over his face, and Sam compliantly opened his mouth to let Kurt face-fuck him.

He ended up unable to just lie there and take it, though. Kurt still had the nicest dick he'd ever tasted...and Sam couldn't stand to just _let_ Kurt face-fuck him, he had to pull him closer and suck on it, hard. And Kurt's come...god, that tasted even better. He got a nice big blast, which he held in his mouth for a long time before swallowing it with a satisfied gulp.

Kurt climbed off and lay next to him, resting his head on Sam's chest. "You're so good at that," he sighed contentedly.

"Yeah, well. Lucky for me my weekly injection tastes amazing." He kissed the top of Kurt's head and closed his eyes.

"Don't go back to sleep, Sam."

"Why not?" the prince murmured sleepily. "It's early."

"Because I need to talk to you."

"'Bout what?"

"About the ball."

Sam pulled the covers over his head. "The ball is the _last_ thing I want to talk about. Why does everybody want to talk about this stupid ball all the time?"

"I know, sweetie." Kurt patted his shoulder over the blanket. "But I have this godson, an orphan, horrible family life—"

"I thought he was an orphan."

"He is."

"Then how does he have a family life?"

"It's his stepfamily. May I continue?"

Sam answered with an affirmative grunt.

"He's completely hung up on you, and, long story short, he asked for an invitation to the ball."

"Fine. You didn't have to bother me with this, you know. My father's people are sending out invitations to anyone who wants them, practically."

"Yes, but that's not what I'm asking. It would mean so much to him if you would...show him a good time."

Sam peeked out from under the blanket and gave Kurt that crooked smile again. "Fuck him, you mean?"

"Yes, of course I mean fuck him. But gently. He's a virgin."

"Mmm..." Fucking a virgin was supposed to be the best thing ever or something, but Sam generally preferred guys with some experience. "Is he hot?"

"Very. Dark curly hair, beautiful amber eyes, and this _ass_ that just makes you want to sink your cock inside it and—"

"Why don't you then?"

Kurt sighed. "I'd love to. But he's my godson, and—"

" _I'm_ your godson too," Sam reminded him. "When has that ever stopped you?"

"If you'll let me finish... _This_ godson, unlike you, is a romantic. He wants his first time to be with the man he's in love with. And that's you."

"But...he hasn't even met me. Has he?"

"No, not in person. But you have that effect on people."

"Because I'm just that charming?"

"You are, actually. It should be your name, in fact. Prince Charming."

Sam chortled. "Yeah, that'll definitely catch on."

"So will you do it, sweetie?"

Sam would have liked to say sure. Normally he would have. He trusted Kurt's opinion on the guy's hotness, and he wasn't exactly averse to fucking hot guys even if they maybe weren't that skilled yet. But it was the fucking ball, and so he had to answer, "I don't know, Kurt. My parents are, like...they're really serious about this ball and how I'm supposed to be a good host or whatever, and the king has specifically warned me not to wander off for any 'liaisons' because I'm supposed to mingle and shit, and dance with the _girls_ , and..."

"Mmm, yes, I see the problem. Well, just introduce yourself to him at the ball, and then you can make a date for later, and—"

"No!" Sam sat up in bed. "No! Are you crazy?"

"What on earth is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me_? You're the one who's supposed to be all-knowing and you don't even get the genius of the masked ball!"

"You told your father it was because masks are cool. Like superheroes."

"Yeah, of course that's what I _told_ him. And he bought it because he thinks I'm a huge dork."

"You are a huge dork," Kurt said. "But in the most adorable way."

"Yeah. Thanks. I still can't believe you don't get it."

"Enlighten me, then."

"He _said_ he doesn't expect me to find someone to settled down with at this thing, right? But what if he really does? Or my mother, what if she's going to start in right after the ball with, you know, asking me about the eligible young ladies I met. But if I don't even know who anybody is because of the masks, then that's that."

"So you think your father just _told_ you you don't need to find a bride so he could lull you into a false sense of complacency."

"Maybe," Sam said. "People tend to think I'm naive and then use it against me."

"Sam, your parents are the most honest monarchs I've ever met. _Ever_. And I've known a lot of monarchs."

"Maybe. I mean, yeah, _generally_ they are, but...I mean, they did manage to convince everyone that Princess Beth was conceived in wedlock.

"That's not the same as plotting against their own son."

"You can't be too careful."

"Okay, you're being ridiculous," Kurt said.

"Am I." Sam knew what people thought of him. Usually they didn't have the nerve to say it right to his face, though.

"Yes. You can still have your little masks and you don't have to ask any of the girls' names. You don't have to ask any of the _guys'_ names. Just, I'll have my godson tell you I sent him and then you can get his number...no big deal."

Sam got up and stood by the side of the bed. "I don't care for your condescending tone."

"Conde-...?" Kurt got up too. "Sam, stop being such a baby about this. What I'm asking you for is such a little thing. I don't like to bring up how much you owe me..."

"How much _I_ owe _you_?"

"I mean...you're my godson and it's my pleasure to help you, of course, but where do you think you'd be without your weekly injections?"

"Oh. _Wow_. Are you even being serious right now?"

"Of course I'm being serious. Now, I'm not saying I find them disagreeable, but..."

"You have a lot of fucking nerve, Kurt." Kurt took a step backward, and Sam told him, "Sit down." Kurt sat on the edge of the bed. He was fully clothed again. Sam wasn't, but that didn't bother him. He laughed and said, "I can't believe you really don't remember...I guess you shouldn't drink tequila."

"Remember what?" Kurt asked nervously. The mention of tequila had him a little worried. He didn't always remember everything from nights involving tequila shots.

"It was...around a year ago, I guess. You get talkative when you're drunk, you know. And you let something slip about the weekly injections."

"Oh god."

"Yeah. So I know the first one is the only one that actually did anything to protect me. All the other times—all the fucking _hundreds_ of other times—have been totally useless."

"Well, I wouldn't say they've been _useless_ ," Kurt protested.

Sam glared at him.

"Okay, I never lied to you," Kurt said. "I just...I never said the injections had to be recurring, you're the one who got that in your head somehow. I just...never disabused you of the notion."

"You sounded a lot sorrier the night you drunkenly confessed," Sam said softly. "You seemed _so_ remorseful. You said you just couldn't help it because you liked fucking me so much, and you thought I liked it too, which I did, but you never meant to hurt me, and you asked me to please, please forgive you."

"I did never mean to hurt you."

"Yeah, well. That's why I did forgive you. Because I really thought you were sincerely sorry, and besides, you were right about me liking it too. So I not only forgave you, but I even agreed to keep playing along."

Kurt smiled weakly. "This is why you're my favorite godson ever."

"Why? Because I'm so easy to manipulate?"

"No! Because you're—"

"I agreed to _play along_. As in, both of us knowing it was just a game. Apparently, you've thought all along that I was still in the dark. And not only that, but now you're also trying to make me think I _owe_ you for it? You're going to try to use it as leverage against me to get your new favorite godson laid?"

"No! It's not like that at all."

"Cut the bullshit, Kurt, it's exactly like that. So here's the deal. I don't care if this guy comes to the ball. I'm sure none of this is his fault, and I couldn't really stop you from getting an invitation for him anyway. But if you ever want me to forgive you again, you'd better make damn sure I can't tell who this guy is. That means he doesn't tell me his name or let me see his face the entire night. And you're not allowed to tell me who he is either. Understand?"

"I think you might actually really like him, if you'd just—"

"Do we have an understanding or not?"

"Sure. Okay."

"Now get out."

Kurt disappeared without another word. Knowing he was probably still listening, though, Sam added, "And in case you were wondering, our weekly date is canceled indefinitely!"


	2. Call Me Darren

" _Blaine!_ "

Blaine turned from the window. "Yeah?"

"What the hell are you doing? I've been calling you for like ten minutes."

"I didn't hear you."

"Obviously."

"What do you want, Jesse?"

"Watch the bitchiness! I'm trying to ask you if you ironed my socks."

Blaine sighed. "Yes. I ironed your socks."

"Because they don't _look_ ironed."

"They're socks, Jesse."

"Oh, I get it. This is because you actually wanted to go to the ball, isn't it? I mean, what you think you'd _do_ there I have no idea. Other than make an ass of yourself swooning over Prince Finn."

"Not exactly," Blaine said distractedly. He had his invitation safely tucked inside a cookbook where no one but him would ever look. A note had come inside it: _Await further instructions._ But there hadn't been any; he hadn't heard from Kurt at all. He was starting to wonder whether he had imagined the whole thing—though every time he checked, the invitation was really there. But the ball was tonight, and if the further instructions weren't forthcoming, then he had to figure some stuff out.

How to get to the palace was the first one. Rachel and Jesse were taking Jesse's car, and they had left Rachel's at school. So that pretty much meant he'd have to take Shelby's...without her killing him. Or at least not killing him until afterwards. 

Then there was the question of what he was going to wear. He didn't have anything even close to "evening wear." At least he had a mask, a plain gold one. Actually it was Rachel's, but she'd decided after she bought it that she needed one with jewels instead.

Blaine ended up ironing Jesse's socks _again_ , while making sure his stepbrother watched so he couldn't claim not to believe they'd been ironed. And then Rachel yelled at him for wasting his time on ironing _socks_ when she needed his help with a hair emergency. But, somehow, both his stepsiblings made it out the door while it was still light out: Rachel wanted to be there early enough to stake out a strategic place in the reception line for when the prince would make his entrance and greet everyone.

Shelby took dozens of pictures before letting them go. She stood in the driveway waving at them, even after the car had disappeared from view. When she came back inside she went to the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine. "Isn't it exciting?" she asked Blaine as he was unloading the dishwasher.

"Uh-huh," he said, peering out the window. He really didn't think Kurt was going to show. At least if Shelby was going to get drunk, that would make taking the car easier.

"I wish _I_ could have married a prince," she said. "I wouldn't be a young widow now, supporting three children by myself."

"Yeah, that would've been great," Blaine said.

"You're so stupid, Blaine. If I had married a prince, it wouldn't mean _you_ would be royalty."

Blaine didn't respond to that. He glanced out the window again, and it was a good thing, because there was Kurt, standing right outside the kitchen window and gesturing at Blaine to meet him in the back yard. "Excuse me," he said, walking toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I think I saw a raccoon outside."

"Well, get rid of it!" Shelby shrieked. Raccoons freaked her out.

"Ready?" Kurt asked as soon as Blaine stepped outside.

"Well, not really," Blaine said, gesturing at his jeans and t-shirt. "I...I mean, Jesse has an old suit I can wear, I guess..."

Kurt got this amused look on his face. "Yes. By all means go put Jesse's suit on."

Blaine had really been hoping Kurt was going to help him out in the wardrobe department. But he certainly wasn't going to complain—the important thing was that he was going to the ball! He ducked back into the house and slipped up the stairs, hoping not to make a sound to alert Shelby. He locked the door to Jesse's room behind him and tried on the gray, polyester-blend suit. It wasn't _that_ much too long for him.

Kurt appeared behind him in the mirror, laughing. "I can't believe you actually thought I'd let any godson of mine go the ball in _that_ suit!" It was instantly transformed into an elegant white tie ensemble.

"Wow!" Blaine said. He didn't know anything about clothes or fashion, but even he could tell this outfit Kurt had put him in was of the highest quality. And it fit so well, like it had been custom-made just for him...which, actually, he guessed it had, in a way. "This is so...thank you!"

"You're welcome. But you don't get to keep that. At dawn it's going to turn back into your stepbrother's crappy suit."

"Of course, of course. Wait, dawn? Not midnight?"

"The ball will have barely gotten started by midnight. Why would I only give you till then?"

"I don't know. For some reason I thought—"

"Blaine!" Shelby yelled from downstairs. "Are you back in the house already? Are you sure the raccoon is gone?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "She's going to be a problem for us, isn't she?"

"Yeah, probably," Blaine said.

There was a scream from downstairs then, and the sound of something being knocked over, and the front door opening and slamming. Then Blaine's phone. It was Shelby. "Goddamn it, Blaine! You let the little fucker in the house! What is wrong with you?"

"Uh. Sorry."

"Sorry? _Sorry_? Blaine, that beast could have rabies! What if it had tried to bite me? What if it bites Lucifer? Of all the..."

Blaine was distracted from Shelby's ranting by the sight of Kurt literally rolling on the floor holding in silent laughter.

"I'll get rid of it."

"How?" Shelby demanded.

"Uh...animal control?"

"Animal control will take a couple hours to get there. What if it attacks poor Lucifer in the meantime?"

"Lucifer's in Rachel's room. I'll just shut the door and he'll be safe."

"You know Lucifer doesn't like being trapped in rooms."

"Yeah, but he probably doesn't like being bitten by rabid raccoons either."

"Goddamn it, Blaine. And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Maybe you can hang out at Terri's for a while."

There was a pause, and then Shelby snapped, "Fine. Call me when that thing is out of the house." She hung up without waiting for a response.

Kurt said, "Okay, get that mask from Rachel's closet."

Blaine didn't even wonder how Kurt knew about the mask, but he did wonder: "What about the raccoon?"

Kurt waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, I sent him back home as soon as your stepmother was out the door. Poor things hate being inside houses; I didn't want to upset him more than necessary."

Blaine got the mask and showed it to Kurt. "What are you going to zap this into?"

"I'm not going to zap it into anything, it's perfect."

"Well, I mean, it's fine. I wouldn't say _perfect_..."

Kurt gave him that amused look again. "Really. What would make it perfect, in your opinion?"

"Well, like...if it were a Batman mask or something. Or, like, not Batman specifically, but like, I used to draw this superhero I called Nightbird, and, I mean, I could show you a sketch of his mask if you wanted..."

Kurt shook his head fondly. "Okay, one: No. This gold mask is simple, elegant, and timeless. In short, perfect for a royal ball. I don't know what's wrong with your sister, choosing that hideous, tacky bejeweled monstrosity over this."

"Stepsister," Blaine corrected him.

"Right."

Blaine sighed. He knew he should probably just shut up and be grateful—and he actually _was_ grateful, incredibly so—but he had to ask: "Is there a two?"

"There is a two, and it's that you're adorable."

"But still no to the superhero style?"

"Still no. Put it on." Blaine did. "Is it comfortable?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah, it's all right."

"I didn't ask if it's all right, I asked if it's comfortable. Because you can't take it off."

"What, you mean they'll kick me out?"

"I mean that once you leave this house, that mask will be physically unremovable from your face until after the ball. It's a condition of you getting to go."

"Oh!"

"But I can make it comfortable first. Which is why I suggest you tell me now if it needs any adjustments."

"Um, actually it does pinch my nose a little..."

Kurt adjusted the mask until it fit so well Blaine barely even noticed it was there. And then he took it off and set it on Jesse's vanity.

"I thought it was stuck on my face until after the ball," Blaine said. 

Kurt rolled his eyes. "After you leave this house, I said. Weren't you even listening? It's going to be a lot easier for me to do your hair with your mask off."

Blaine glanced in the mirror. He thought his hair looked fine. "What are you going to do to my hair?"

Kurt shook his head and made a sad clucking noise. "All these beautiful curls. It breaks my heart to do this, but I'm going to gel them into submission."

"What!? Why?"

"Because, Blaine, you have to be incognito." An open jar of gel appeared in one hand, and he looked at it distastefully, two fingers hovering over it. He quickly decided to apply the gunk without actually touching it. 

"Isn't this overkill, though? I mean, I'll already have a mask on the whole time, and no one there will know me anyway, except for Jesse and Rachel."

"Oh, they're too self-absorbed; they wouldn't notice you even without a mask."

"So then..."

"So I can't take any chances. It's...kind of a fairy regulations thing," Kurt said. There was no way he was going to tell Blaine about his spat with the prince, but "fairy regulations," while vague, wasn't a lie. The regulations did say that fairies had to honor any agreements they made. "And for the same reason, you cannot tell anyone who you are, or give any clues about who you are."

"Not even just my first name?"

"Of course not. You think _Blaine_ is a common first name in this kingdom? It's not a common first name anywhere."

"So what do I tell people if they ask my name?"

"You say, quote, 'Call me Darren,' unquote. See? That's not a lie, because you're not actually saying it's your name. You're just telling people to call you that. Got it?"

"Yeah, but...why _Darren_?"

"Why not Darren? You don't like it, pick a different name, I don't care. Just nothing that starts with B or ends with -aine."

Blaine looked in the mirror. He almost didn't recognize himself with his hair plastered to his head. At least it wasn't likely to get in his eyes when he danced, he thought, forcing himself to see a bright side. Kurt stood behind him and sized him up. "Let's just get the mask back on and you can be on your way."

"Um, okay, but how?"

"Just like you did before, 'Darren.' Hold it up to your face and tie it in the back."

"No, I mean...I don't have a car, and I'm sure Shelby took hers to go to Terri's..."

"Oh, right, transportation! Give me..."

"You want me to dig up a pumpkin from the garden?"

Kurt's mouth dropped open and he fixed Blaine with an incredulous stare. After several long seconds of silence he asked, "What on earth would I want a pumpkin for?"

Blaine blushed. "I just thought..."

Kurt waited.

"Never mind. What did you want me to give you?"

"Your _phone,_ Darren. So I can download an app for you."

"Oh." Blaine handed over his phone, while apologizing, "It's not really a smartphone..."

Kurt flipped the phone open and inspected it with wonder. "Wow! Can you even text with this thing?"

"Yeah, but if I want to type an S I have to hit the 7 button four times."

Kurt shook his head sadly. "I'm _really_ sorry I've neglected you so long, sweetie." He zapped it into the latest model iPhone, downloaded the Uber app, and handed it back. "My credit card info will disappear at dawn, but you can keep the phone."

"Fairies have credit cards? Really?"

" _That's_ what you're choosing to question?"

"Nope! I'm good. Thank you for everything, Kurt!"

Kurt had to show him how to summon a driver. Blaine put the mask back on, got the invitation from the kitchen and tucked it in his pocket, and went with Kurt to wait on the front porch for the car. As they saw a white Jetta turn onto Blaine's block, Kurt asked, "Do we need to review your rules for tonight?"

"Uh...no telling anyone who I am and no taking off the mask."

"And...?"

"There's more?"

"You have to be out by dawn! Do you even pay attention?"

"Right. Dawn."

Kurt sighed with theatrical exasperation. "Sunrise is at 7:02 tomorrow. Maybe you should set an alarm for half an hour before that."

"Right." Blaine, unfamiliar with his new iPhone, poked around trying to find the alarm app. Kurt had to point out the picture of the clock. Blaine was still fiddling with it when the Uber driver pulled into the driveway. Kurt ushered him into the passenger seat and shut the door. The driver was taking the car out of park when Blaine said, "Wait!" He rolled down the window and held the phone out to Kurt. "Is this right?" he asked. He didn't want to accidentally break the rule about leaving by dawn because he had somehow set the alarm wrong.

Kurt looked at the phone and frowned. "This is set for 6:45. I suggested a half an hour."

"Oh, yeah, but I mean, it's not gonna take me that long to just walk out the door, is it?"

"Do you really want to run that risk?"

"Risk? No, but I mean....what actually happens if I don't make it out in time?"

Kurt made some sort of gesture to the driver, who started backing up into the street. Kurt smiled as they pulled away and said, "I don't know what'll happen. I guess I could turn you into a pumpkin. Want to find out?"

Blaine changed the alarm so it was set for 6:22.

.

Ryder escorted the prince to his dressing room. "Señor Martinez has a new apprentice," he informed Prince Samuel. "His security clearance checks out, but if you'd rather not have him there..."

"It's cool, I totally trust David." David Martinez had been Sam's tailor for as long as Sam could remember. He was probably in his forties now, but hot for an old guy. Sam had gotten a lot of boners over the years from David fitting him for new clothes.

He hadn't ever actually fucked him though. Not that he hadn't wanted to. David ignored his accidental boners and awkward teenage flirting for years. Sam thought maybe he was being too subtle, so he just came out and propositioned him while being fitted for an outfit for his eighteenth birthday party. He still remembered his rejection—in part because he usually only got rejected by straight guys (and by no means all of them), and in part because it actually made him realize something. 

David had told him that he was flattered, of course, but that it would be too "icky" for him—not that there was anything icky about His Highness, he added quickly, but because of their relative ages and the fact that one of them was still technically a minor. And that even though that one would soon be a legal adult, David wouldn't be able to think of him that way.

And besides, he added, he had found that hooking up with people he had an ongoing professional relationship with rarely turned out well for everyone involved. Had the prince ever noticed the same thing?

The prince had not, in fact, ever noticed the same thing. He'd fucked that one guard a few times, before he quit. And his driver...before he quit. 

Oh.

So, yeah, after that he stopped hitting on people who worked for him. Well, people who worked for him long-term.

It was a distinction that was sometimes important, like with David's new apprentice, Jeremiah. That and the fact that the guy worked for David, not for Sam.

Jeremiah was gorgeous. If David didn't have an unimpeachable reputation for professionalism, Sam would suspect he'd hired him for his looks.

Sam didn't necessarily have a "type," but sometimes a guy had a certain feature that just got to him, and with Jeremiah it was his hair. It was just a shade darker than his own and so wavy and so _thick_ and he couldn't rid himself of the image of holding on to it while fucking the living daylights out of the guy.

"So, Jeremiah," Sam started as he was buttoning up the new white shirt that David had just handed him. "How long have you been working with David?"

"Not quite two months, Your Highness."

"Yeah? And what were you doing before that?"

"I was...I was working at The Gap, actually." Sam had no idea what The Gap was—he made a mental note to ask Ryder later—but based on the way Jeremiah said it he wondered if it was something seedy, like a strip club or something. As much as he liked the idea of Jeremiah stripping, he doubted it was that exactly. David probably wouldn't have hired him if that had been the case.

Or maybe he would have, because David scrunched up his nose slightly at the mention of The Gap and hastened to add, "Yes, well, everybody has to eat. But Jeremiah's portfolio is very impressive, all the more so for being completely self-taught."

"Cool." Sam smiled at Jeremiah. "Maybe you can make the suit for my wedding."

"Oh, no! I'm still just an apprentice!"

"That's all right, I won't be ready to get married for a long, long time," Sam said with a wink.

"There's no special...girl...then?"

"Jeremiah!" David snapped. "Your Highness, I apologize deeply for the impertinence of my—"

"It's all right, I like his impertinence," Sam said. To Jeremiah he added, "You're staying for the ball, right?"

Jeremiah, despite having been defended by the prince himself, was still a little chastened after being reprimanded by his boss. "No, Your Highness. I wasn't invited."

"Because I hadn't met you before! I'd never knowingly not invite someone so hot."

Jeremiah wasn't actually sure the prince was flirting with him. That is, it certainly _seemed_ like he was, but...he was a _prince_! Not to mention pretty much the hottest guy on the planet. But the flirting just got more overt as the fitting went on.

Finally Señor Martinez took a step back and took one final look at the suit. "Esta perfecto. If I may say so, Your Highness."

"You may, and I agree. Beautiful work as always, David."

"Thank you, Your Highness." He gave a quick bow. "If there's nothing else, I'll just get Jeremiah back to the shop so we can find something for him to wear, since Your Highness has been so generous—"

"Actually," the prince said, "I'd like him to stay for a few minutes. If you can spare him. I'm sure we can arrange for a car to bring him back to the shop."

Señor Martinez hesitated for a few seconds. "Very well, Your Highness. May I...may I have a minute with him first?"

"Of course."

Señor Martinez took him by the shoulder and led him out into the hall. There was another guard out there, but Señor Martinez ignored him completely. Placing a hand on Jeremiah's shoulder, he said, "I'm sorry, maybe I should have warned you that this might happen, but..."

"Warned me?"

"You don't have to stay with him. He may be a prince, but he can't _make_ you...I mean, he won't try to force you. I've heard a lot of rumors, but I've never heard anyone even suggest that he's ever tried to force anyone. But my point is that I want you to _know_ you can say no, you don't have to feel pressured..."

"Pressured? Señor Martinez, I don't mean any disrespect, but I think you must be crazy if you think I'd want to say no to what I think Prince Samuel is going to ask."

"I see." 

"No, I mean, I don't think you're crazy, obviously. It's just...you know, I'm young...and single...and he's _so_ hot. And chances like this don't come around every day." Jeremiah was going to do this—whatever _this_ the prince had in mind—regardless of what his boss thought about it. But he still _hoped_ Señor Martinez would understand and not lose all respect for him.

Señor Martinez gave his shoulder a little pat. "Okay. I just had to make sure you knew you weren't obligated."

"Thank you, sir."

"And...you're not expecting it to be more than a one-time thing, I hope."

"No. No, of course not." Though wouldn't it be amazing if...But, no. Señor Martinez was right. Jeremiah was realistic enough to know that.

As soon as Jeremiah stepped back into the dressing room—alone—the guard stepped out. The prince walked over very close to him and asked softly, "Did he warn you about me?"

"Sort of. He said I didn't have to let you...But, Your Highness, I _want_ you to."

That was all the prince needed to hear, apparently, and he started removing the clothing that Jeremiah and Señor Martinez had so carefully helped him into. Jeremiah felt vaguely like he was supposed to be taking his own clothes off too, but he couldn't help but just watch. Jeremiah had seen a few pictures of the prince in swim trunks, so he sort of already knew about his chest and his abs, but seeing them up close and in person was just...wow. By the time he got a look at the royal dick, as hard and pink and tall as he ever would have imagined, Jeremiah was almost literally swooning.

He didn't get to look for long. As soon as the prince was undressed, he pushed Jeremiah up against the wall and started nibbling on his neck while unbuttoning his shirt. "I wanted to do this from the second I saw you," he said, right before he moved the nibbling down to his chest and unbuttoned Jeremiah's pants.

"You could have, Your Highness," Jeremiah blurted out. "In front of my boss, your guards...I wouldn't have minded."

"Wanky," the prince said. "You know my guards are right outside the door. I'm not gonna invite them in or anything, but feel free to be as loud as you want."

Jake and Ryder heard a loud groan come from inside the dressing room. Ryder wanted to pretend to ignore it, but Jake gave a little smirk and said, "Looks like His Highness found one with an exhibitionism kink."

"He probably doesn't realize," Ryder said. 

"No one groans that loud without realizing that someone's gonna hear."

Ryder didn't answer. He hadn't been talking about the apprentice anyway, he meant Prince Samuel. He was pretty sure the prince had no idea how hard it was for Ryder, hearing him fuck any and every guy in the kingdom... _except_ for him.

There was another groan, louder than the first. It went straight to Ryder's gut, and he let out a little noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

Jake looked at him sympathetically. "You okay, man? You need to take a break?"

"No." Guards to the prince didn't get to just _take a break_. He really needed to get his shit together before someone other than Jake caught him being unprofessional. It was just hard, when he could imagine in such vivid detail what the prince was probably doing to that lucky bastard right now.

The prince, in fact, had the lucky bastard face down on the chaise longue right now and was stretching him with oil-coated fingers. 

Jeremiah was vaguely aware of the scent of coconuts suddenly filling the room. He didn't care about that, though. He was only interested in the fact that the prince's fingers were inside him, that the prince was actually going to fuck him. He still couldn't believe Señor Martinez thought he might not want this. Who wouldn't want a gorgeous prince to be their first!?

This Jeremiah guy had such a sweet little ass. So tight. Oh, uh... "Have you done this before?"

Jeremiah froze for a second. Would the prince stop if he told the truth? Not wanting to take the chance, he said, "Yeah, of course."

Sam repositioned the boy in front of him, scooting him up so his elbows rested on the head rest. Sam loved hearing guys scream for him, and he didn't want Jeremiah to be muffled by the cushions. 

Jeremiah held onto the head rest and spread his legs as wide as he could. He felt the prince moving around behind him, and he couldn't believe this was really about to— "Oh! _Ooooh_!" The prince's cock was inside him! It was pushing in deeper and deeper, and all he could do was let his head drop and groan deeply.

"Yeah?" Sam asked. He pulled out and thrust in again, a little faster than the first time. "You like that?"

Jeremiah answered with another groan, and Sam knew just what he meant. He kind of missed it already...taking it, that is. Not that giving it wasn't also pretty great. _Really_ great, actually. In fact, about the only thing that could make this better is if he had those fistfuls of hair he was picturing earlier.

"Lift your head up."

Jeremiah obeyed immediately, realizing with chagrin that the prince had asked him a direct question and he hadn't even answered it. "Yes, Your Highness," he answered belatedly, feeling the prince's hands working their way into his hair. "Yes, thank you, I love it." And he did love it, so much that he didn't even care that it kind of hurt.

The groans from inside the prince's dressing room turned to yelps, and the yelps grew louder and faster together. Ryder thought he could hear the slapping of skin against skin, but that was probably his imagination: the walls were very solidly built, after all. He knew he wasn't imagining the occasional actual words coming out of the boy's mouth: 

"God!"

"Fuck!"

"Your Highness!"

He didn't know why—it wasn't like it was the only time he ever heard it—but Sam really got off on guys calling out _Your Highness_ while he fucked them. "Say that again," he instructed Jeremiah.

Jeremiah wasn't sure what he'd just said that the prince liked. "Your Highness?"

"Yeah. Scream it when you come." 

And then the prince reached around and started stroking him, then jerking him, and it was so overwhelming and Jeremiah still had no idea what he was supposed to scream when he came, which he was about to do any second now, until at the last possible second it dawned on him and he wailed: "Yo-...Your Highness!"

Fuck, that was hot. Between the screaming and the muscles tightening around his dick, Sam soon found himself unloading inside that cute little ass. 

And Jeremiah, he was perfect, he didn't shut up for a second. "Oh god oh god Your Hiiiiiighness!"

 _Oh god_ , Ryder echoed in his thoughts. This was the worst part, hearing the guys come. He glanced at Jake, standing there so stoically, and muttered under his breath, "Must be nice."

"Yeah, I'd say the kid thinks it's pretty nice," Jake agreed.

Ryder blushed. He hadn't even meant to say anything out loud, much less for his partner to actually hear it. But then, he knew that Jake already knew how he felt, so... "I actually meant you," he said.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you know. Being all...straight and everything and...able to listen to this kind of thing without it...affecting you..."

Jake chuckled a little. Since Ryder was finally sort of admitting what was going on with him, Jake decided he may as well share too. "You're right, I have it easier than you. I'm not in love with him."

"I wouldn't say I'm—"

"But I'm not _all_ straight, like you said."

"You're...not?" This was definitely news to Ryder!

"No. Mostly I am, but I mean...I've accepted blow jobs from guys on occasion."

"Yeah, well, big deal," Ryder said. "I might _accept_ one from a girl."

"Sure," Jake said. "But also...No, His Highness fucking random guys really doesn't... _affect_ me, as you put it. But when that fairy shows up and..." Jake couldn't actually bring himself to say _when he fucks His Highness_. "When His Highness is, you know, on the bottom? I'd give anything to be the fairy at those times."

"Oh. Wow." Ryder let this new information about his partner sink in. "How do you never let it show?"

"Years of practice," Jake said, shrugging. He was older than Ryder and had been working for the prince for a lot longer. "Plus, like I said, not being in love with him."

Ryder didn't bother to deny it this time.

The guy quieted down finally, thank god. The hallway was silent for several minutes until the door opened. The prince looked as handsome as ever, and completely put together. A little more relaxed-looking than earlier maybe, but nothing anyone would be able to put their finger on. The apprentice, on the other hand, looked completely wrecked. His face was flushed and damp, his hair was disheveled, and he had missed a button on his shirt. Lucky bastard.

"Ryder. Find Jeremiah a car and a driver."

"Yes, Your Highness." Ryder started down the hall, gesturing for Jeremiah to follow him.

Sam stood in the hall and watched the two of them leave. After they'd turned a corner he asked Jake, "Do you think he's okay?"

"Ryder?"

"No, the guy. Jeremiah. Do you think he was crying? I mean, not just in the _screaming_ sense, which obviously he was..."

"Not that I noticed, Your Highness."

But Sam was pretty sure...when he looked at Jeremiah afterward, at his face, it seemed like there were tears. It could have just been sweat, but...well, he hoped he hadn't hurt him. Jeremiah did say it wasn't his first time, Sam was sure of that, and he never asked Sam to be gentler. Still, though. Sam was a little worried.

Jeremiah followed the guard down a back staircase. He was glad they weren't side-by-side, because Jeremiah could feel himself blushing. It had seemed really hot to him at the time, knowing that the two guards knew exactly what was going on. Now, though, it was somehow kind of mortifying. Not that he was ashamed or anything, obviously, but...he sort of wished he hadn't been _quite_ so loud about it. 

Not that he necessarily would have been able to help it if he'd tried, especially at the end. It was very, very... _intense_...at the end. He was pretty fucking sore now, actually.

He was glad, when they started walking, that the guard wasn't talking to him. But it was a long way to wherever the cars were, and the longer they walked in silence, the more awkward Jeremiah felt. He knew it was probably better to just keep his mouth shut, but he found himself blurting out, "So, does he always—"

"My job is simple," Ryder cut him off. "Sometimes I see everything, and sometimes I see nothing. What I never do is gossip about what I have or have not seen."

"Oh, but I just meant—"

"It's fine."

They walked a few more steps in silence before Jeremiah spoke again. "It's just, you'll think I'm insane, but I think I'm sort of in love with him."

Ryder didn't think it was insane at all. What he did think would be insane, though, would be him allowing this conversation to continue. Looking straight ahead, he asked, "What address would you like the driver to take you to?"

.

"You're cute," the middle-aged Uber driver said when he took off down Blaine's street. "What's your name?"

Blaine tried to answer. It wasn't that he was deliberately trying to disobey Kurt's rule against saying who he was, but it didn't even occur to him that the rule applied to the Uber driver. Apparently it did, though, because he physically couldn't get his mouth to form the word _Blaine_. "Uh, call me Darren."

"Nice to meet you, Darren. I'm Sandy."

"Nice to meet you."

"So Kurt's great, right?" Sandy asked.

"Yeah! He got me an invitation to the ball! And he's paying for my ride with you."

"Yes, but that's not what I meant. I meant sexually."

"Oh." Blaine frowned to himself. "You've, uh...you've had sex with Kurt?"

"Not for a long, long time. His preference is for _young_ men," Sandy said, sighing. Then he leered in the rearview mirror and added, "Of course, so is mine."

Blaine wondered how old Kurt could have been when they had sex, if Sandy could have been considered young at the time. He found thinking about that preferable to thinking about the weird way Sandy kept looking at him. The weird way Sandy kept looking at him was something he decided to ignore.

So he wasn't really looking into the front seat at all until the car jerked to the left and startled him. He saw Sandy grab onto the steering wheel, which meant he had apparently let go of it. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Fine, fine," Sandy said distractedly. "I used to be a lot better at rolling a joint while driving."

"What!?"

Sandy held up the joint and a lighter. "You want the first hit? On the house."

"No!" Blaine said. "You're not going to smoke that while you're driving, are you?"

"Relax," Sandy said, just before he lit the joint and inhaled deeply. 

While Sandy held in the smoke, Blaine looked around, assessing his situation. They were on the highway already, so it wasn't like he could just get out. Maybe if he asked nicely... "I really wish you wouldn't..."

Sandy let out a cloud of smoke in a huff. "I drive better when I'm high," he insisted. "Besides, it would be impossible for me to crash now. I'm working under one of Kurt's charms."

"One of Kurt's charms?"

Sandy stared at Blaine in the mirror. Blaine was just about to beg him to please look at the road when Sandy did so on his own. But then he glanced back quickly in the mirror and said, "You must know about Kurt. I mean, mustn't you? I assumed you're one of his fairy godsons too...or else...why would he..."

"Too? You've met other fairy godsons of Kurt's?"

Sandy started giggling then. "Fairy godsons! That doesn't even make any sense! Because _we're_ not the fairies, _he_ is. But you knew what I meant, right? Or did you? Did what I say even make any sense?"

"Yeah, yeah, I knew what you meant," Blaine assured him. "But I mean... _you're_ his fairy godson? But...Oh! He must not age, right?"

"Right. Lucky bastard. Heh, that's a funny expression. I don't know if fairies even have parents, much less if fairy society expects them to be married before having babies. I doubt it. I mean, given Kurt's attitudes toward sex. Though of course he's a gay fairy, so..."

"So has he helped you much?"

"He fucked me when I needed to get laid. Again, this was years ago, but...And I'm a bottom, in case you're interested."

Blaine had no response to this.

Sandy studied him in the mirror again. "No? Not interested? Ah well, I guess you're a bottom too. That's okay, we're just not compatible."

Again, Blaine had no response. But Sandy kept looking at him in the mirror, so he felt like he had to say something. "So...has he helped you in other ways?"

"Sure. He got me this job with Uber after I got fired for _supposedly_ sexually harassing a student, which obviously was bullshit."

"Oh." Somehow Blaine wasn't entirely convinced that the charges were bullshit.

"And he sends business my way, like you. And he tips well, though why not? Money to him is like nothing."

"Sure. Still, it's nice."

"Yeah. Because money to me isn't nothing."

"Right."

"It's definitely something. It's, like, literally the opposite of nothing."

"Yeah, you need money to live," Blaine agreed.

"To live! Exactly! Oh, and that's another thing! The charm, so I don't crash!"

"That's very nice too," Blaine agreed, sincerely grateful for the charm at the moment.

"Though now that I think about it," Sandy said, "that may just work for when I'm driving _Kurt_ around."

"Oh, fuck," Blaine muttered to himself, checking that his seatbelt was on tight.

But they made it safely to the palace. Sandy giggled a lot and blabbered on and on, but he didn't actually do anything terrifying with the car. So maybe the charm did work after all. Or maybe they were just lucky.

The line to get inside was kind of long, but it kept moving. Blaine didn't mind, anyway; he was just excited to be there. 

At some point he noticed that the two women in front of him in line were holding hands. And he was...okay, he was kind of shocked. Like in a good way, but he just couldn't believe that they'd be doing it right out in open, at the _palace_ of all places. He didn't realize he was staring until the brunette one snapped at him, "Take a picture, it'll last longer!"

Blaine felt himself blush, which he hoped the mask was making not too obvious. "I'm sorry!" he said. "I'm not...I actually think it's great! I was just surprised because...I mean, isn't the royal family pretty conservative?"

The two women exchanged surprised glances and then burst out laughing. The blonde one said, "You've never met them, have you?"

"You _have_?"

"Sure. Princess Quinn came to our wedding."

"Seriously!?"

"Let me guess," the brunette said, "you only know about them from TV and magazines."

"And the internet," Blaine added weakly.

"It's actually the media that's conservative, and so they portray the royals that way too," the brunette said. "Actually they're pretty open-minded."

"And super nice," the blonde added.

"Well...Princess Quinn can be kind of a bitch sometimes," the brunette said.

Blaine actually gasped out loud in shock.

The brunette laughed. "Hey, I can say it. I went to boarding school with her for four years."

"Don't say it like that, Santana. She was your best friend besides me."

"And my worst enemy." Santana saw the pouty look her wife was giving her and said, "But, no, you're right, Brittany. Anything bad between us, that was all back in high school."

Brittany and Santana talked to each other for a while then, and Blaine took a step back so as not to eavesdrop or anything. But when they were almost to the door, he noticed their conversation had lulled, and he decided to take his last chance to ask what he was dying to know: "Do you know Prince Samuel too?"

Brittany looked startled for a second, like she'd forgotten that they'd been talking earlier or that he was even there. But her confusion passed quickly and she answered, "A little. He came to visit Princess Quinn at school a couple times, but he was a lot younger than us then."

Santana added, "Of course, he still is younger than us."

"Is he?" Brittany asked. "But he's not a little kid now. He's totally hot. Now I'd do him...I mean, if I wasn't married to you."

And then Santana said something to Brittany, and Blaine almost thought it sounded like, "And if he wasn't gay."

"What?" he asked. But Brittany and Santana were at the head of the line then, and just as he was asking this they were being taken inside to get checked out by palace security. He tried again, desperately yelling, "What? WHAT!?" even after he knew there was no chance they could hear him anymore.

He only stopped yelling when a guard summoned him inside. "Invitation?"

Blaine handed it over distractedly, gaping at the décor. It was just like all the pictures he'd seen—this very hall being (according to his high school textbook) one of the premiere examples of the Dwightian style, named after King Dwight I and similar to Rococo but much more over-the-top. But in person it was so much more impressive than the pictures let on!

Karofsky frowned at the invitation this wide-eyed kid had just handed him. It looked legit—it had the tell-tale colored fibers in the paper and the royal watermark in the right place—but it didn't have a name on it. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he was sure he was going to need back-up, so he discreetly sent a message to Azimio, another guard. Not wanting to alert the apparent intruder that he knew anything was up, he casually asked, "ID?"

"Excuse me?" Blaine asked when he realized the guard was talking to him.

"I asked to see your ID, please."

"Oh, but...I don't have it."

"Mm-hmm. Would you remove your mask for me, please, sir?"

"No, but...I can't! It's a masked ball, right?"

"Yes, of course, sir. Once you're inside. Obviously we can't let people into the palace without knowing who they are."

"But...I didn't know!"

Another guard, even bigger than the first (whose size Blaine hadn't really noticed until this moment) showed up, and the two exchanged a glance. The first one made a signal to the second, who looked at Blaine and said, "Would you come with me, sir?"

"Kurt! _Kuuurt_!" Blaine yelled as he was being whisked away down a concealed stairway.

Kurt was in his favorite fairy wine bar, trying to relax with a well-earned glass of Sauvignon blanc, when he heard Blaine's cries. Honestly, this boy was getting to be so much trouble. He turned to his friend Mercedes, sighed, and said, "A godmother's work is never done" as he prepared to look into whatever the big emergency was.

"You're off the clock, Kurt," Mercedes told him. "Sometimes we just have to step back and let our wards figure things out for themselves. It's good for them." She signaled the bartender for another couple glasses of wine.

But Kurt had already checked and realized Blaine's current predicament was entirely his fault. Not that he would admit this to Mercedes, of course. He stood and said, "I know. I should. But I have a soft spot for this one."

"Soft spot?" Mercedes asked. "Or hard-on?" 

"You know me too well. I'll be back in a jiff."

He appeared not in the room Blaine was being held in but in the hallway outside the prince's dressing room where Jake was standing guard. "I need a favor," he announced.

Jake, completely unfazed by Kurt's sudden appearance, didn't turn to look at him. He did, however, let a half-smile form on his lips. Kurt had asked for favors a couple times in the past, never without offering something in return. "What can I help you with?"

"First I want to point out that this is all your boss's own fault."

This did surprise Jake. He didn't know what Kurt was talking about, but how he could be there because of something that was his boss's fault he really had no idea. "What did she do?" he asked.

"She?" Kurt asked. Then he realized Jake was thinking of the head of palace security. "No, not that boss. _Sam_."

"Oh, _that_ boss." This surprised Jake much less. He knew the prince and his fairy godmother were arguing.

Kurt explained the problem, pointing out several times that it was _Sam_ who insisted on not knowing who Kurt's godson was.

"So you'd like me to do what?" Jake asked at the conclusion of Kurt's story.

"Vouch for him, obviously. Get him into the ball."

Jake considered the request. "Can you promise me he won't hurt the prince or anyone else?" He knew Kurt was absolutely bound to his word—it was the reason he couldn't just let the godson remove his mask and show his ID.

"I promise my godson won't physically harm anyone," Kurt replied.

"Really? You have to specify _physically_? Like, what, he's going to call people rude names or something and hurt their feelings?"

"Probably he won't do that; he's very polite. But I can't guarantee that Sam won't fall in love and get his heart broken."

Jake just shook his head, but he let it go. "And you're offering the same thing you've offered for my help in the past?"

"Of course, Tripod," Kurt said, smiling. 

Jake smirked a little at Kurt's nickname for him. "Okay. If I can get away when Ryder gets back."

"I'll be waiting in the linen room."

Kurt hated waiting, especially when it meant missing out on wine and gossip. But, well...Jake was just as tasty as any wine. Plus, of course, Blaine needed his help, yada yada yada. So he made himself comfortable on a pile of royal linens and waited.

And it wasn't actually _that_ long before Jake slipped in, announcing, "I can only be gone a couple minutes."

"Like it ever takes me longer than that with you."

"I can last as long as I want to," Jake said. He just never saw any reason to hold back with Kurt.

"I'm sure you can," Kurt said. "And if I ever ask you for a big enough favor to let you fuck me for, I'll expect you to."

"You'd like me fucking you as much as I would like doing it—hell, you'd like it more. So don't try to get any favors out of it if you ever do offer."

Kurt had to admit that Jake had a point—but only to himself, obviously. To Jake he said, "If you're in such a hurry, why are your pants still on?"

This time it was Jake who had to admit that Kurt had a point, and he pushed his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh. He wasn't totally hard yet, but he knew Kurt could get him there quickly enough.

Kurt licked his lips at the sight of Jake's semi-erect cock. It was among his current favorites—especially with Sam holding out on him now, the ingrate. It was probably the biggest, for one thing: bigger than Sam's, bigger than Kurt's own, even. And size wasn't everything, but it wasn't nothing. It really was a shame that he wasn't going to be able to take his time to properly enjoy blowing his favorite (yes, still his favorite, despite Sam's recent bout of brattiness) godson's guard.

But Jake was impatient—even when they'd done this in the past without being under the same time constraints—and not just impatient but bossy. Aggressive, even. Kurt wouldn't allow most guys to push him to his knees and shove their dicks in his mouth, but he did let Jake get away with it. It was because he owed Jake...or that was his official explanation, anyway, not that Jake ever asked (or anyone else ever knew). But the truth was he loved it. The truth was he could have easily thought of another way to get Blaine inside the palace, but he sometimes craved this kind of treatment from a hot, mostly straight guy with a big dick who would just use him to get off. And Tripod fit that description better than anyone he could think of.

Jake held the back of Kurt's head in place, fingers tightly gripping his hair...probably pulling it pretty hard in fact, but Kurt wasn't complaining. "Suck it," he ordered. Pushing in steadily he added, "Fucking gag on it."

Kurt was actually very practiced at taking big dicks down his throat _without_ gagging, but he pretended to choke anyway...not to humor Jake so much as because he himself found it hot. He gagged every time Jake shoved that glorious cock down his throat, until Jake got worried about the noise and told him to shut the fuck up. It was easy enough to shut up the gagging, but the moans—which were not fake—were somewhat harder to control. Luckily the giant dick in his mouth was stifling some of the noise.

Jake fucked Kurt's mouth like he hadn't gotten laid in ages and might never again. In fact it wasn't that far from the truth—he was working most of the time and never really got to even meet anyone, after all. And even when he did get out, he had never met anyone who gave head like Kurt. The guy was a champ, taking Jake's cock all the way down his throat and acting like he loved every second of it...which Jake didn't actually doubt. If he thought regular gay men were all like this, he might switch to Team Homo full-time.

True to his word, Kurt managed to bring Jake to the brink of orgasm in a remarkably brief amount of time. Despite his earlier assertion that he could if he wanted to, Jake wasn't at all sure that he could have lasted very long if he'd tried. Not that this bothered him when Kurt gave one last super-suctiony suck and he felt himself starting to unload right down his pretty little fairy throat.

Kurt remembered that Jake tended to come a lot, so he tightened the seal of his mouth so as not to let any escape. It probably wasn't necessary—Jake was huge, so it wasn't like there was really any extra room—but Kurt just liked to be sure because he was as big a slut for jizz as he was for cock. (Not that Kurt considered sluttiness a bad thing in the least. People who did—and, yes, it was mostly _people_ —were so weird.)

There was as much of it as he expected, and Kurt groaned as spurt after spurt of come nailed the back of his throat. Each blast made his own dick get harder and harder. He needed badly to get off, but he thought that would be "too gay" for Jake, so he used all his restraint to not touch himself and just enjoy the hot, creamy load sliding down his throat.

Jake, meanwhile, was shaking from the force of his release. It really had been a while, he guessed. Plus, Kurt just had these skills...

When he finally stopped trembling and caught his breath, he saw that his clothes were fully in place again. It was a good thing, too: he was way too relaxed now to feel like doing _anything_ except maybe take a nice nap.

"Off you go then," Kurt said, just as Jake was letting his eyelids droop. "The boy in question will answer to the name Darren."

Oh, shit. Right. He had a full night ahead of him, starting with rescuing this not-really-Darren. He reluctantly left the linen room on not-too-steady legs. As soon as he closed the door behind him, he heard what sounded like Kurt groaning again.


	3. Sammy Is in Love

When another big, muscly dude in evening wear entered his holding room, Blaine was afraid it was another guard there to interrogate him (or worse), and he shrank back into the corner. The guy just smirked at him, though, and said, "Relax, Darren. I'm here to escort you inside. Don't ever say your fairy godmother never helped you out."

Blaine blinked rapidly, trying to process what was going on. "Kurt?" he asked. "You can change forms?"

This made the guy laugh. "I didn't say I _am_ Kurt. He asked me to help you out."

"Oh! _Thank you_! You're another of his fairy godsons too?"

"No. I really don't have time to explain. Just follow me."

Blaine was only too happy to do so, and he sprang up out of his chair and followed his rescuer. The one guard who had whisked him away was still standing outside the door, but he just nodded at the guy Blaine was following.

Jake was leading Darren toward the ballroom when he got a call from Ryder. "Where _are_ you, man?" his partner asked frantically. "His Majesty is getting impatient."

"Shit," Jake said. "I'll be right there." He changed directions and ran up the nearest staircase, completely forgetting that Kurt's godson was still following him.

It wasn't until he burst into the prince's dressing room, slightly out of breath, and the prince looked past him and asked, "Who is this?" that he remembered.

Shit! He wasn't supposed to bring the kid up here! But he had, and now all he could think to say was, "Your Highness, may I present...Darren?"

Blaine froze completely. He may have stopped breathing, he wasn't sure. He just, he couldn't believe he was actually standing in Prince Samuel's _room_. With _Prince Samuel_! And, God, he was so handsome, way handsomer in person than in any picture Blaine had ever seen, and he was giving him this smile that was, like, kind of confused, but also just really warm and really _genuine_ , and he had no idea what he was supposed to do! What do you do when you meet the man of your dreams, who happens to be the prince, face-to-face!? 

You bow, _duh_! Blaine forced his muscles to move, and he bowed, just the way all schoolchildren in the kingdom were taught just in case they should ever be presented to royalty. "Your Highness," he somehow managed to say, "it's such an honor."

Sam was intrigued. Why had Jake brought this guy up to his room? Who was he? His eyes were gorgeous. As was—when he bowed—his ass. Not that Sam had the best angle for viewing it, but good enough. When Darren stood upright again Sam took his hand and shook it, for longer than he normally found himself shaking strangers' hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Darren. Are you a friend of Jake's?"

"Not exactly," Blaine said.

Sam shot a questioning look at Jake, but then his gaze was drawn back to Darren. He had nice lips too. If only Sam could see more of his face. "Take off your mask," he told him.

Blaine felt his heartbeat quicken. "I...can't, Your Highness."

Sam grinned. "Sure you can. The mask thing was _my_ rule, so I can tell you to take it off." He barely remembered why he'd come up with that stupid rule in the first place.

Blaine, hoping it actually worked that way, untied his mask and gave it a gentle, experimental tug. Nope. It was definitely attached. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I would never deliberately disobey an order from you, but it's...it's stuck."

"Here, I'll help," Sam said, and he grabbed both sides of the mask and yanked on it.

Blaine screamed. It was as if someone had just tried to rip the skin off his face. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out, but Blaine wasn't sure of that yet. He dropped to the floor, clutching his face and crying.

Sam dropped to the floor with him and pulled Darren into his arms. "I'm sorry!" he said. "I'm so sorry!" He rocked back and forth with him until the crying subsided. "I had no idea," he explained. "Did you superglue it to your skin or something?"

Blaine tried to pull himself together. He couldn't believe he was making such an ass of himself in front of Prince Samuel! Crying like a baby! The fact that the prince was being so sweet about it just made him want to die even more. "I'm so sorry, Your Highness. I..." He trailed off as he noticed Jake leaning down to whisper something to the prince and the prince's eyes getting really big.

"Is your name really Darren?" Prince Samuel demanded.

"Um...no, Your Highness."

"What is your name really?"

"I can't say," Blaine answered in a near-whisper.

Prince Samuel looked really angry then. But then his expression changed suddenly and he laughed. "Fucking Kurt!" he exclaimed, still chuckling.

"You know him?"

"Yeah, I know him. He's my fairy godmother too." Sam extended his hand to stroke "Darren's" cheek, but then, realizing that might hurt the poor guy even more, he gently touched his neck instead. "I really am sorry I hurt you. If I'd realized Kurt did this I never..." Sam heard something in the hall that made him stop talking. It sounded like...it _was_...his father. He jumped up and ordered Ryder, "Hide him!" 

Blaine felt himself being hauled to his feet and whisked away somewhere again. This time it wasn't very far; the guard pushed him into a closet and slammed the door behind him. He didn't know what was going on, but he tried to hold himself very still and quiet.

He heard a door open outside and a loud, deep voice say, "What the hell are you doing up here still?" The voice was so familiar-sounding, it was...holy crap, it was the _king's_ voice. One of like two people in the whole world who could yell at Prince Samuel. Blaine did _not_ want to hear Prince Samuel get yelled at...especially if it was because of him!

"Father!" Prince Samuel said. "I was just on my way."

"You literally have a ballroom full of people waiting for you. Did you think I was just messing around when I kept telling you over and over how important this ball is?"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Jake said. "It's my fault. I was detained and—"

"Jake, your loyalty to my son is admirable, but I can tell when you're covering for him." 

"No, really, Your Highness—"

"Is there a man in here?" the king asked suddenly. Blaine almost fainted. He literally felt himself go light-headed, and probably the only thing that saved him from actually fainting was the knowledge that his falling would make a noise that would remove any doubt as to whether the prince was hiding someone.

"Father!" Sam objected, hoping his feigned indignation at the question was at least slightly plausible.

Jake and Ryder both stood perfectly still, neither glancing at the door concealing Darren nor making any move to put themselves between it and the king.

"We can talk about this tomorrow. Right now just get your ass downstairs and make your damned entrance already."

"Yes, Father."

Blaine heard people walking away and the door closing. He listened at the closet door very quietly, even holding his breath for as long as he could. He couldn't be positive that he'd heard all four people exit, but as he kept hearing nothing from the dressing room, he was eventually satisfied that it was almost certainly empty. Still, when he dared to open the closet door he did so very, very slowly. He peered out cautiously and determined that he was, in fact, alone.

Stepping out of the closet, he breathed a sigh of relief. But just the one sigh. Because then he realized he might very well be stuck in this dressing room for the whole night if no one remembered to come back for him. He wondered what kind of trouble would he get in if he just started wandering around the palace on his own. The guards—the scary ones—would surely remember him and be less kind the second time he caused them trouble. On the other hand, what kind of trouble would he get in if someone found him here in the prince's private dressing room? Surely a maid or someone would come eventually. And even if no one came until morning...oh, God, what if he was still here after sunrise? He didn't think Kurt would really turn him into a pumpkin, but...well, what if he did? Or something just as bad?

Quickly he stepped back into the closet. Not that it was his plan, exactly, to just stay there all night, but...well, until he _had_ a real plan, he thought he was less likely to be discovered here than out in the main part of the dressing room. As he was standing there in the dark, the thought occurred to him—the way unrelated thoughts sometimes seemed to when he was trying to solve serious problems—that he was actually surrounded, at this very moment, by clothes Prince Samuel had worn on his actual body.

And he instantly forgot about everything else.

He felt around for and soon found a light switch, which he flicked on. The closet was both deeper and wider than he'd been picturing it. He realized this shouldn't have surprised him, as Prince Samuel was...well, he was a prince, obviously. He certainly didn't have to do laundry every few days just to stay in clean underwear!

Oh God! What if Prince Samuel's _underwear_ was in here?

 _No, Blaine!_ he told himself. _Do not go looking for the prince's underwear!_ That would be super creepy and would probably get him sent to jail if he got caught.

And maybe it was because he had the underwear thought _first_ —had the underwear thought and rightly rejected it—but when Blaine recognized the soft blue sweater that Prince Samuel had looked so adorable in on TV last week, it didn't seem _that_ inappropriate to walk over and touch it. Touch it and rub it against his face (or as much of his face as wasn't covered with the mask). He inhaled deeply and, _oh God_ it smelled just like Prince Samuel did when he was holding Blaine in his arms, and, Jesus Christ, Prince Samuel actually _held Blaine in his arms_! The realization made him hyperventilate, and that was how Jake found him: hyperventilating in the closet with his face buried in one of the prince's sweaters.

He tried repeatedly to apologize for causing so much trouble, but Jake brusquely told him not to worry about it as he ushered him...somewhere.

"Are you throwing me out?" Blaine asked.

"Hardly. His Highness specifically told me to instruct you not to leave the ballroom until he finds you and dances with you."

"He really...Oh my God, he really...Wait, does he know I'm gay? People might think—"

Jake snorted. "He knows you're Kurt's godson, so, yeah. He knows you're gay."

And that was when Blaine realized that, without any doubt, what he thought he heard that Santana woman say was true! Prince Samuel was actually gay! He wouldn't be Kurt's godson if he weren't. He was actually gay and he wanted to dance with Blaine!

Jake left him at the entrance to the packed ballroom. Blaine strained to locate Prince Samuel in the crowd but couldn't. He should have been the easiest person to locate since he wasn't wearing a mask...or, at least, he hadn't been when Blaine saw him. Maybe he was now. Still, only two other men would be wearing the official regalia, and Blaine was sure he'd be able to differentiate Prince Samuel from his father and brother-in-law even with masks. Anyway, there was a big swarm of people in the far corner of the ballroom, so probably Prince Samuel was in the middle of it. 

Blaine decided to wait instead of swarming over there too. It was probably useless to swarm, for one thing—the crowd was much too dense, and he would be at the outer edge. And for another thing...Prince Samuel actually _wanted_ to see him again. _He_ was actually planning to find _Blaine_ , hard as that was to believe.

Rachel, meanwhile, was swarming. The prince had looked right at her as he walked past while making his entrance—she was sure of it. Or if not _right_ at her, then right above her head. It wasn't her fault she was so short! Anyway, she had to reach the prince to remind him of the intimate connection they'd had when their eyes almost met. But there were all these horrible wannabes and poseurs in her way! And, totally unfairly, most of them were bigger than she was. "Jesse, help!" she ordered.

Jesse wasn't really paying attention to his sister. He was too busy scoping out all the chicks, trying to decide which one he most wanted to console after the prince rejected her. But when Rachel asked for his help, he reluctantly put his own mission on hold. Becoming brother-in-law to the prince was more important than getting laid by a hot commoner or even minor noblewoman, after all. Though if he managed to _marry_ a noblewoman...But, no, brother-in-law to the prince was still the main goal. So he took Rachel's hand and started helping her maneuver through the throng.

The two of them got some dirty looks. And several _Ow!_ s by people who got in the way of Jesse's elbows. And, after some woman screamed just because he "accidentally" stepped on her foot, they got the attention of one of the guards, who appeared out of nowhere and placed a hand on each of their arms.

Rachel, fearing the alternative was _both_ of them being asked to leave, gave the guard a pleading look and said, "Please, can you help me? He grabbed me and he won't leave me alone!" 

"Rachel! How could you?"

Rachel just stared at him with a look of terror (and to think her acting professor tried to give her a B once!) and even actual tears in her eyes as the guard escorted her brother out of the ballroom.

When they were out of sight, she decided she'd better back off for the time being. Although her acting skills were obviously superb, it was just possible that the guards would be paying her extra scrutiny for a while. Retreating to a quieter part of the ballroom, she carefully sized up the other guests who weren't clamoring for the prince's attention.

The group consisted mostly of men, obviously, and of older, already-married women. It wouldn't hurt to "network" a little, she thought...not because she needed a contingency plan in case things didn't work out with her and Prince Samuel or anything like that, but just because...well, because it never hurt. What if she met someone who was a close, personal friend of the prince, for example? That would make a great icebreaker when she finally got a chance at a real conversation with him.

She approached several men who, from a distance, seemed to have potential, but each of them soon proved to be a nobody. She was actually considering giving up when...Oh, there was a man who was obviously wealthy, based on his impeccable clothing. All the mens' evening wear looked basically the same to the untrained eye, but Rachel could tell from how well this man's fit that it had obviously been custom-tailored. And he was all alone, excellent! She walked over with a big smile plastered on and extended her hand. "Good evening! I'm Rachel!"

The man was strangely still for a moment before he shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

Again there was that silence before he said, "Call me Darren."

"I'm happy to meet you, Darren." She smiled again and waited for him to say something. When he didn't, she observed, "It's a lovely ball so far, don't you think?"

"Lovely," he agreed.

"The whole mask idea lends just the right touch of whimsy," Rachel said. In fact she hated the masks. They really put a damper on her networking attempts. On the other hand, maybe she could use the forced anonymity to her advantage. "Although..." she said thoughtfully, "...it's making it much harder for me to remember where I recognize you from. You're...you're a duke, right? The Duke of..."

"Stop pretending you know any dukes."

Rachel sputtered in disbelief. "What makes you think I don't know any dukes!?"

He hesitated for a moment before looking her up and down and declaring, "Your dress. It screams, _trying too hard_.'"

The nerve! Her gown had cost her a fortune, and this...this _nobody_ had the gall to insult it!? Rachel spun on her heel to storm off but froze when she noticed: "Prince Samuel is coming this way!"

"He is," Darren agreed.

Rachel looked at Darren again. He was smiling at the prince's approach, but he seemed relatively calm about it. Relatively unsurprised. "Do you know him?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Introduce me! Darren, you have to introduce me, it's so important!"

Prince Samuel was looking right into Blaine's eyes as he approached. Women were trailing after him; people on all sides were trying to get his attention, but he paid them no mind at all. He just walked straight up to Blaine, bowed, and said, "There you are! May I have this dance?" Blaine took his hand and, vaguely aware that Rachel was screaming at him but not caring at all, walked to the dance floor with the prince.

"Do you waltz?" Prince Samuel asked as they walked. "Because I can have the band play something else if you don't."

"No, I do, actually." He'd practiced waltzing quite a lot, as it happened. By himself in his room, but he didn't doubt that he'd do fine with Prince Samuel leading.

And he did do fine! Prince Samuel was just as amazing a dance partner as he had always dreamed. The prince held him close and glided him around the floor effortlessly. Honestly it was _so_ much like his dreams that Blaine was afraid to question whether he was actually awake.

Sam slowly became aware that people were looking at him in a way he wasn't used to. He didn't want to be paying attention to anything or anyone other than the man he was dancing with, but it was so odd that after a while he couldn't not notice. He didn't even get what was going on at first, but eventually it dawned on him that it was because he was dancing with a man.

He hadn't really even considered that he would get this reaction; he rarely made any effort in his day-to-day life to hide his orientation, so he just didn't think about the fact that most of the guests at the ball weren't people close to him who already knew. When he noticed the looks on people's faces...well, he didn't much care that his "secret" was out, but he did care about how Darren would take the reaction. "How are you?" he asked.

Darren sighed and answered, "So wonderful."

Okay, good. He didn't care. Or possibly just hadn't noticed. In case it was the latter, Sam thought he'd better talk, just to keep Darren's mind off...everyone else. The problem was...Sam never had trouble making conversation, but now for some reason he felt almost...flustered or tongue-tied or something. He managed to come up with: "So...that woman you were talking to..."

Blaine frowned. He really didn't want to be reminded of Rachel right now, of all people.

Sam noticed the frown and hastened to clarify, "I wasn't implying that you and she..." Though what if they _were_ a couple? What if Blaine was in the closet and actually married to a woman? Except...no, Kurt said he was a virgin, so that wasn't too likely.

Blaine wasn't sure whether Kurt had actually forbidden him from lying, but he did know for sure that he was forbidden from giving clues about his identity, and identifying his stepsister would be a pretty big clue. So he just said, "She just walked up to me and started talking." He could have left it at that, but he added the funny part (not that Prince Samuel would get the joke): "She said she thought I was a duke."

"Are you?" Sam asked. "No, wait. Sorry. I know you're not allowed to give me any hints."

"You know that?"

"I know Kurt really well."

Blaine wondered if that meant that Prince Samuel had had sex with Kurt. Then he immediately chastised himself for even _thinking_ such a thing about the prince. Not that he never...Okay, yes, he had had many, many ( _many_ ) sexual thoughts about Prince Samuel (though not involving Kurt). But it just seemed wrong to think about when he was actually in the prince's presence. 

Though of course that just made it all the more difficult _not_ to think inappropriate thoughts. Because he wasn't just in the prince's presence, he was in his arms. Again. And it was even more magical than the first time because he wasn't also in horrible pain. And also...parts of their bodies that weren't as innocent as _arms_ were awfully close to each other.

"He makes me so mad sometimes," the prince said.

"Kurt?"

"Yeah. With his stupid _rules_. Like...I'd really like to get to know you."

Blaine's heart skipped. He had no idea what to say to that and was horrified to find himself responding, in the worst approximation of a flirtatious tone that had probably ever been attempted, "I bet you say that to all the guys."

Sam held him a little closer. "I don't, actually." He couldn't remember the last guy—if there'd ever been one—that he wanted to get to know like he wanted to get to know Darren, who wasn't even really Darren but whose real name Sam wasn't even allowed to know! He let his nose brush against "Darren's" forehead and added, "Just you."

.

King Dwight joined his wife in the balcony overlooking the ballroom. After kissing her hand he asked, "May I get you anything, my dear?" 

Queen Mary smiled at him and gestured at their son on the dance floor below. "Sammy is in love."

"Darling, you promised you wouldn't get your hopes up. We both agreed that that's not what's important about tonight, and—"

"Dwight. Just look at him."

The king, more to humor his wife than anything, turned to look. He spotted their son on dance floor, and he was somewhat far away and the lighting was low, but...but, yes, he was actually inclined to agree with the queen! Extending his hand toward her, he said, "Darling, may I borrow your..." He couldn't think of the word, but she knew what he wanted and handed him the lorgnette. Holding it to his eyes he could see very clearly—without any doubt, in fact—that, yes, Samuel was in love! Dwight knew, because his son looked exactly the same way he himself had felt when he first met Mary. "I'll be damned!" he muttered.

"Your Majesty...language!" his wife teased him.

"I apologize, Your Majesty," Dwight said, bowing. "But I never thought I'd see the day!"

"And you realize, of course, what else this day is, don't you?"

"What else?"

"It's the day the prince has just outed himself to the entire kingdom."

"Oh, shit!" 

It wasn't that the king wanted his son to stay in the closet forever. He just wanted to control the coming-out story. And now his chances of doing that were dwindling rapidly. "We have to make it clear that we don't disapprove," he said. It was the least (and, at the moment, probably also the most) they could do.

"So ask me to dance."

"I thought you wanted to wait until later for our first dance."

"I did. But if we dance next to the happy couple, and smile approvingly..."

"My darling, you're a genius."

"That's why you married me, isn't it?"

"That and your body," the king whispered in the queen's ear. Some things the guards didn't need to overhear.

Sam saw his father approaching the dance floor and wondered if he was in trouble. It wasn't really like the king to make a scene in public, but...

But then he saw his mother was there too, and she looked at him and smiled. And then his _father_ smiled at him. They started dancing with each other, and every time they got close they smiled at him. His father even caught Darren's eye and smiled at _him_ , which made poor Darren freeze. "It's okay," Sam whispered in his ear. "He likes you!"

"But I forgot to bow!" Darren whispered back.

Sam laughed. "You don't have to bow when you're dancing."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Relax."

Blaine laughed. It just struck him as really hilarious that _the prince_ was telling him to _relax_. And yet...he did feel kind of oddly relaxed. Like nothing bad could happen while they were dancing together. He even let himself rest his head on Prince Samuel's shoulder as they spun around.

.

In another wing of the palace, Princess Beth was attending a private ball with her five-year-old sister, Princess Matilda, and their nanny, Marley. Princess Catherine wasn't invited because she was only two and already asleep. 

Beth curtsied to Marley and asked, "May I have this dance?" 

"I'd be delighted, Your Highness," Marley replied, taking Beth's arm and walking with her to the "dance floor," which was really just a cleared-off area of the playroom. 

Beth enjoyed a pretend ball as much as any other little girl. But not when there was a _real_ one going on in her own _house_ that she wasn't even invited to. That was just completely unfair! But it was okay. That is, it wasn't okay at all, but she had a plan. She just had to act like she was on board with the "private ball" until...

"It's not fair!" Matilda announced. "I wanna go to the _real_ ball!"

Beth walked over and put her hands on her sister's shoulders. "But, Matty, we're not old enough for the real ball. Anyway, this fake one is just as fun." She glanced at Marley to make sure she noticed how reasonable and mature she was being. Sure enough, Marley gave her an approving nod. Matilda, on the other hand, gave her a look of confusion and betrayal. Because of course Beth was the one who'd been telling her all day how unfair it all was.

"Come on, Matilda. You can have the next dance, okay?" Marley said.

Beth took a step back. "You can have this one, in fact. I know it's pretty late for you and you get grouchy when you're tired."

"I'm not _tired_ and I'm not _grouchy_!" Matilda shouted.

"Well, you're raising your voice, and that tells me you _are_ tired and grouchy," Marley said. "So now, would you like to use your indoor voice and dance with us? Or would you like to yell and have bedtime now?"

"I'm not YELLING!" Matilda shrieked, tears rushing down her face. "You're so UNFAIR! You both HATE me!"

Marley turned to Beth and said apologetically, "I guess it is a little late for your sister. Can we have our dance in a few minutes when I get back?"

"Of course," Beth said, patting Marley's hand consolingly. "I guess she's just having a rough night."

Marley lifted the crying princess up onto her hip and took her to her bedroom. As soon as the door closed behind them, Beth made a run for it.

.

Prince Finn didn't like dancing. He especially didn't like _ballroom_ dancing. He wasn't great at it, which was a big part of why he didn't like it. But he'd had lessons and he wasn't _terrible_ anymore, and he knew it was expected. Required, even. Prince Sam had to be the first of the royal family to dance, but then Finn and Quinn were expected to go pretty soon after that. He guessed he'd better see if Sam was dancing yet.

Yeah, there he was. Dancing with...huh, how about that. He was dancing with a man.

Finn found his wife. "Ready to bite the bullet?" Princess Quinn teased him.

"Yeah," Finn said with a chuckle. "Just wondering, though...is this, like, a coming-out ball in the literal sense? I mean...the modern sense?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Look at your brother," Finn said, nodding in Sam's direction.

Quinn looked. What she saw was surprising. 

She'd seen her little brother with men a few times (and she knew there were a lot more times that she hadn't accidentally intruded on), but never like this. Never this publicly, for one thing, and never looking like he wanted more than to get in the guy's pants.

Though it _did_ look like he wanted to get in the guy's pants. Just not _only_ that.

She took her husband's hand and said, "Wow. Good for him."

"How long do you think they've been together?" Finn asked.

"A while, from the looks of it. I wonder why he never told the family."

"Maybe he's planning to dance with him all night, get everyone talking, and then unmask him and propose at dawn."

Quinn laughed. "That sounds way too romantic for my brother."

"Maybe he's just never been romantic before because he never had...you know, whoever that guy is before."

"You are a romantic," Quinn said, sighing. "You know, if you asked me to dance right now I'd probably say yes." In a whisper she added, "I might even go home with you."

.

Sue Sylvester observed the young princess elude not one but two guards charged with patrolling the residential wing of the palace during the ball. Incompetent slackers! She would fire them first thing in the morning. She would have fired them on the spot if she could have risked being down two men with the palace packed with strangers.

However, she did not apprehend the fugitive princess. She followed to make sure she would be safe, but she admired the girl's cunning. Princess Beth reminded her of a young Sue Sylvester. And there was no one Sue Sylvester admired more than Sue Sylvester.

She trailed Princess Beth as far as the entrance to the ballroom, where she knew Princess Quinn would take care of the little escape artist, and then circled back to bawl out the negligent guards. Should she also bawl out the nanny who let the escape happen in the first place? Even though the child care staff didn't report to her in any way, it was tempting. It was always fun to see Miss Marley Milquetoast cry. But, no, she had too much actual work to do tonight. Oh, but tomorrow she could ask the king to let her present a security seminar for all the child care staff. Heh, yes, torturing the ninny in front of her coworkers would be even better than yelling at her in private.

Beth stopped short when she entered the ballroom, stunned. She'd been here before, but never with it lit so prettily and fancy music playing and so many people all dressed up. How _dare_ they try to keep her away from this? This real ball was clearly where she belonged. 

She strode through the crowd, holding her head high. When she heard someone say, "Look, it's Princess Beth!" she turned and nodded graciously. She marched right onto the middle of the dance floor, where her Uncle Samuel was dancing with a beautiful boy in a mask. By this point they seemed to be the only two people nearby who _weren't_ looking at her, so she tugged on her uncle's sleeve to get his attention.

Startled out of the reverie he'd been in while dancing with Darren, Sam looked down. "I thought you were having a private ball with Marley and your sisters, sweetheart."

"There were no boys there, so Marley said I could come here for just a few minutes."

"Did she."

Beth knew from her uncle's tone that he wasn't buying it. But she still thought she could sweet talk him into letting her stay just a little while. "Please may I have one dance with the handsomest man at the ball? Then I'll go straight to bed."

Sam had a soft spot for his nieces. Beth was about the _only_ person who he couldn't be mad at for interrupting his dance with Darren. (He wouldn't have been mad at Matilda or Catherine either, but they wouldn't have tried it.) And he knew Quinn would be mad, but it was _his_ ball, after all. He turned to Darren. "I'm sorry. Would you excuse me for one dance?"

"Of course, Your Highness," Blaine said, taking a step back.

But Prince Samuel tightened his grip on his shoulder long enough to add, "Please don't go away."

Blaine nodded and moved back only enough to give the prince and little princess enough room to dance.

Prince Samuel bowed to his niece and asked, "May I have this dance?"

Princess Beth crossed her arms and shook her head. "Not _you_ , Uncle Samuel! I want to dance with the _handsome_ man!" And she took Blaine's hand.

Blaine looked around, sure that the little girl was just trying to get him to move out of her way or something. But when he finally looked down at her, she was smiling up at him expectantly and kind of adorably. And then she curtsied and asked, "May I have this dance?"

Blaine glanced at Prince Samuel to make sure it was all right before he bowed and said, "I'd be delighted, Your Highness." 

And then...Beth didn't actually know how to dance very well. That is, she could _dance_ , like to the radio, or just for fun. But she knew that this kind of dancing, at a grown-up ball, had certain "steps" you were supposed to follow, and she couldn't remember all the steps. It didn't matter with Marley, but it seemed important now. She remembered the time she'd helped her father practice his dancing, and he told her she didn't have to learn anything; she could just stand on his feet. So that's what she did with her uncle's handsome friend.

Quinn and Finn hadn't seen Beth come in, but they'd gathered from the chatter of the guests near them what was going on. Quinn rushed over to see her dancing with Sam's new mystery man. Smiling to conceal her fury at her eldest daughter, she stood next to her brother and said, "I'll kill her."

"You can't," Sam said. "People would notice, and infanticide is frowned upon."

"That's why I'm smiling." She knew she couldn't possibly interrupt until the song was over. Not when everyone watching so clearly thought Princess Beth was being all cute and charming. "Why are _you_ smiling? As if I can't guess."

"Am I smiling?" Sam hadn't really noticed it, but _of course_ he was smiling. Because Darren really was the handsomest man at the ball, and now seeing him dance with Beth in her poofy "ball gown" just...

Oh, shit. 

Sam actually wanted to squee at the sight. He had never in his life wanted to _squee_ before. What the hell was happening to him? 

Oh, who cared? Just look at how cute Darren was, dancing the little girl around on his feet! A part of Sam suddenly wished it weren't impossible for him and Darren to make their own babies together.

Oh, _shit_.

Seriously. 

What the _fuck_ was happening to him?

He might have worried about it longer, but Darren's dance with Beth was coming to an end, which meant Sam got to have the handsomest man at the ball all to himself again. He didn't exactly push his young niece out of his way, but...well, if Quinn hadn't been there taking her hand and leading her away, then who knows?

Quinn crouched down to speak to her daughter. Still smiling, because she knew people were watching, she said, "You are in so much trouble, young lady."

"Marley said I could..." Beth started, but an icy look from her mother made her decide to shut her mouth.

"Now, do you want to go to your room quietly? Or do you want to cause a scene and find out how much _more_ trouble you can be in?"

"Quietly, Mother," Beth squeaked.

"That's my girl," Quinn said, straightening up. 

She gripped her daughter's hand tightly and was about to lead her out of the ballroom herself, when saw something that made her think perhaps she'd better stay here and have someone else take Beth. She'd send Finn, but he was such a pushover he was with the girls: Beth would somehow manage to convince him that she shouldn't be in trouble at all because...well, Quinn didn't know what "reason" she'd come up with, only that Finn would buy it. She looked around for guards and called over the first one she spotted.

"Jake, have one of your colleagues escort Princess Beth to her room," she said.

"Yes, Your Highness," Jake said, taking the girl's hand.

"If she gives you or them a hard time, I want to hear about it first thing in the morning."

"Yes, Your Highness," he said. He gave Beth a stern look, but he couldn't help but smile at her a little when he did it. 

Quinn smiled and thanked him. She wondered...Jake wasn't exactly a pushover for Beth—Quinn was confident that she _would_ hear about if if her daughter tried anything—but he was clearly very fond of her. Sometimes Quinn wondered if he knew...

Not that this was the time to be thinking about ancient history. She turned her attention back to Sam and his mystery man. She recognized the look on her brother's face. It was the look he got when he not only _wanted_ to get in a guy's pants but was actually about to.

She walked right up to him but wasn't surprised when he didn't stop dancing to talk to her. She didn't let that act of inconsiderateness stop her from cupping her hand around his ear and warning him, "You need to cool it, Sam. Everybody is watching you right now."

Sam frowned and looked around. His sister was right. Even though some other people were dancing, almost everyone had at least one eye on him and Darren. He probably should have been grateful to Quinn for pointing this out, but instead he snapped at her, "I know that! Do you think I'm an idiot?"

He looked at Darren apologetically. "Sorry, that was rude of me. I just...sisters, you know? I mean, do you? I guess you can't tell me."

"I'm sorry, Your Highness. I wish I could tell you everything."

"I know. Me too." He pulled him closer and said, "I guess we'll have to get to know each other without talking too much."

Quinn heard the whole exchange, especially the part about getting to know each other without talking. Clearly her warning wasn't going to do the trick. It would serve her brother right if she just left him to his own devices. Luckily for him, however, she actually did feel protective of him and was determined to do something. 

The best thing to do, she supposed, would be to forcefully break them up, to cut in and insist that the mystery man dance with her.

That seemed _too_ cruel, though. They really did look sweet together.

Instead she called over one of her own guards. "Shannon, I need you to gather as many people as you can who are close friends of the family or who work here at the palace and have them form a circle around Prince Samuel and his...dance partner. They should act casual, like they're just dancing, but I want a barrier to provide some privacy for my brother and..."

"His dance partner? Yes, Your Highness. Of course it's hard to tell who's who with everyone wearing masks." Shannon had never been in favor of masks at the ball. From a security standpoint it was a nightmare. Princess Quinn just gave her a look, though, so she repeated, "Yes, Your Highness" and went off to do the best she could.

Sam did wish he could know everything about "Darren." Where he lived, what his interests were...his real name, for crying out loud! But at the same time, after dancing with him for several songs (and during the breaks between the songs), he really felt like he _was_ getting to know him without talking much. He was getting to know his scent: clean and fresh, a little bit spicy and a lot sexy. He was getting to know a little of his feel: not nearly as much as he'd like, but some, like the firmness of his shoulders, the stiffness of his hair. He was getting to know his taste...

Actually he wasn't, but he desperately wanted to.

"I want to kiss you so bad," he whispered into Darren's ear. "Please tell me you'd like me to."

All Blaine could manage in response was a stunned "Your Highness..."

"You don't want me to." Sam tried not to sound as crushed as he felt. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"I _do_ want you to!"

"Oh, thank God," Prince Samuel said, and then he brushed his lips against Blaine's. It was just a tiny brush of skin against skin, but it made Blaine feel more alive than he'd ever felt.

And then it became more than a tiny brush, it became the prince's lips pressed fully against his own. And the prince's lips parted and somehow Blaine's did too—he didn't even have to tell them to, they just parted—and then the prince's tongue was _inside_ his mouth.

Blaine felt himself whimpering. He felt himself pressing back against the prince. Not just his mouth against the prince's mouth, but his whole body against the prince's whole body. 

He knew, in the back of his head, that he shouldn't. He was being so inappropriate, he would be thrown out of the ball...or worse. But he didn't care, he only cared that his body was screaming out for more and more contact. Specifically, yes, a certain part of his body. A part that he knew he absolutely shouldn't allow to be anywhere near Prince Samuel, but it was so hard and needy and the prince's thigh pressed against it felt so good...

Thank God Darren was letting Sam kiss him. Thank God he was as hard as Sam was. Sam had really been worried that everything he was feeling was one-sided.

He had to get them out of this ballroom, somewhere private where they could do more than kiss. His father would kill him for leaving all his guests, but he'd kill him _more_ for allowing things to progress any further in front of everyone. (A third option—such as staying in the ballroom _without_ letting things progress—didn't even occur to Sam.) He just had to ask Darren to come with him. He was pretty sure he'd say yes. He just had to move his mouth closer to Darren's ear. 

Oh, but Darren's neck smelled so good. Sam couldn't help but kiss him there. And nibble a little. And suck until Darren moaned.

And Darren's moan was so beautiful. Hearing that moan, Sam couldn't help but drop his hands onto Darren's ass and grind his crotch directly against Darren's.

It all happened so fast. First the prince was doing something amazing to his neck, and then his hands were on his butt, and then he felt the prince's cock rub right up alongside his own, and it didn't matter that there were layers of clothes in between them, it didn't matter that they were in a crowded ballroom with hundreds of people probably watching them, all Blaine knew was that he couldn't stop his hips from moving in response, his cock rubbing against Prince Samuel's—only a few times, really, that's all it took—and he was clutching the fabric of the prince's suit and gasping into his chest and he was coming, right in his elegant evening wear, right in front of all those people, and, most mortifyingly, right on the prince! 

After his balls had emptied, it took a few moments for his head to clear and the reality of what he'd just down to hit him. Even though he had just grossly violated His Highness and deserved no sympathy or comfort from him, Blaine buried his face in the prince's shoulder and wept.

"Oh God, what's wrong?" Sam tightened his grip around Darren, holding him in a protective embrace. "What did I do? I'm so sorry!"

Darren was sobbing, and it was impossible to understand most of what he was saying. Sam caught _sorry_ several times, and _crude_ and _inexcusable_ , but it wasn't until he caught the phrase _all over Your Highness_ that he figured out what had happened. 

"Okay, honey, shh," he said softly into Darren's ear. "It's not a big deal. We can get you cleaned up. It's okay." He wasn't really dancing with him anymore so much as rocking back and forth. He kept doing that while repeating "It's okay" until Darren's sobs died down.

Blaine wanted to believe it would be okay. He wanted to believe anything Prince Samuel told him. He just didn't see how it _could_ be okay. "That's so kind of you, Your Highness, but I...I actually just..."

"Shh. I know what happened; it's not a big deal." He glanced down and saw the mess was only visible on Darren's pants. "And it's not even on me."

"It's not? Thank God!" Blaine was able to believe that Prince Samuel really wasn't disgusted by him. That helped a lot, but it didn't make it totally okay. "But everyone must have seen," he said.

Sam was worried about that too, actually. But when he looked around, he saw that, miraculously, _no one_ was looking at them. He didn't know how it was possible, but...wait, the people around them all looked familiar, even with the masks. They mostly seemed to be palace employees, in fact, who were well trained at being discreet. He couldn't believe their luck! "No one noticed," he assured Darren. "Just look. No one is paying any attention to us."

Blaine found this hard to believe, to say the least. But he wanted to trust the prince. And the prince had told him to look, so he looked.

And it was true! No one was looking at them. He couldn't believe he had doubted Prince Samuel.

Sam felt Darren relax. Not totally, but a lot. "Follow me and we'll get you cleaned up, okay?" 

But then something occurred to Sam. As soon as they separated, the wet spot on Darren's pants would be obvious. And they were going to have to walk past people who _weren't_ well trained at not noticing stuff. Fanning his face with his hand, he said, "By the way, is it warm in here to you? I'm roasting. _Roasting_. It's not just me, though, right? I mean, don't you feel hot too?" 

This puzzled Blaine, because it really wasn't hot in the ballroom. That is, he was warm from dancing close to the prince, and his face was hot from crying, but the room itself, he was pretty sure, was comfortable. He wondered if Prince Samuel was actually hot (as in temperature; in the other sense there was no question) or if he was just trying to change the subject to help Blaine forget about his humiliating accident. If that was it, it was about the sweetest thing ever. In any case the last thing he felt like doing was contradicting the prince, so he agreed. "I _am_ a little warm, now that you mention it, Your Highness."

"Yeah! Whoa! I'm gonna...I think we should take our jackets off. Because this is just unbearable!" Sam removed his jacket and held it in front of himself so that it concealed his crotch. He just hoped that Darren would mimic his action.

The way the prince removed his jacket and held it in front of himself so deliberately, the way he was watching Blaine so carefully the whole time...it struck Blaine as very strange. Until very suddenly he got it! The prince was trying to help him cover up the stain on his pants—which Blaine hadn't even _thought_ about—without coming right out and mentioning it. He really _was_ the sweetest person ever! Blaine felt himself flush some more—more from gratitude than embarrassment this time—and he removed his own jacket and held it in front of himself the same way Prince Samuel was doing. "Thank you, Your Highness," he whispered.

"Well, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable," Sam said. He wanted to take Darren's hand but couldn't because of the way they were both holding their jackets. Instead he simply said, "Follow me," and led him through the crowd toward a back exit. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Jake and Ryder were following too, and he wished they didn't have to. He could order them not to and they'd probably do what he said, but then they'd have to deal with Sue if she found out. And Sam couldn't do that to them.

He led Darren back to his dressing room and told Jake and Ryder to wait in the hall. They stood there impassively, one on either side of the door, just like they did any time he ducked into a room with some guy and told them to wait outside. He wanted to tell them that this wasn't like that, that Darren wasn't just some guy that he was about to hook up with. He didn't know if he was even going to, for one thing. He didn't know if Darren would want to now.

Inside, he rushed around trying to gather things he thought Darren could use: a damp wash cloth, a towel, clean underwear, clean pants. "If you want to give me your pants I can clean them for you. I mean, I don't have to look while you change. If you don't want me to, I mean. If you want me to, then yeah, I'd really, really like to look. But I don't want to creep you out."

"You could never creep me out, Your Highness," Darren said. He blushed, but he started removing his stained pants.

Sam didn't look, though. That is, he did look, but not at the area under the pants. He looked in Darren's eyes. And he said, as Darren stripped, "Do you mind...calling me Sam?"

Blaine gulped. "For real, Your...Sam?"

"Thank you," Sam said. "That sounds so much better." He took a step closer, holding out the wash cloth. "I could help you clean...not just your clothes...if it wouldn't creep you out."

Blaine couldn't speak, so he shook his head. But then he realized that Pr-... that _Sam_ might think that meant he didn't want his help, so he took a deep breath and concentrated on getting out the words: "It wouldn't creep me out."

And it didn't creep him out, _of course_ it didn't. But it did maybe _freak_ him out a little. Because, like, no one had touched him there ever, and that it was about to happen now, with the prince, who had asked him to call him _Sam_ , and in the middle of the most surreal night of his life—which was an understatement because Blaine didn't have any other surreal nights to even compare this one to...yeah, he was freaking out a little.

The prince stood very close to him and helped him out of his pants and underwear. And then, still looking only in his eyes, he gently touched the soft, warm cloth to Blaine's dick. It wasn't abrupt or sudden or anything—it wasn't the sort of touch that should have made someone gasp and startle. But Blaine gasped and startled.

"I really can let you do this yourself, if you'd prefer," Sam said softly.

"No! Please!"

"Okay." Sam kissed his forehead, right between his hairline and the upper edge of the mask. "Would you like to lie down?"

"Yes!" Damn it, Blaine hoped that didn't sound too eager. Prince Samuel probably wasn't even suggesting... But just in case he _was_ suggesting something more, then Blaine wanted to. Very, very much.

Sam looked around the room. There was only one place suitable for lying down, and that was the chaise longue. But he couldn't lay Darren down where he'd just fucked that apprentice, uh, Jeremiah, it seemed wrong. And so he took Darren by the hand and led him where he never led anyone: through the connecting door into his bedroom.

.

Downstairs in the ballroom, the prince's absence was not going unnoticed. King Dwight walked up to his daughter and demanded, "Did your brother take that boy somewhere for a 'quickie'?"

Quinn hoped it was going to be a quickie. But she had seen everything that happened—that is, she had to piece together part of it, but between the grinding and the sobbing that followed, it wasn't difficult to figure out—and she had a feeling Sam and his mystery man were going to be gone for a while. She answered, "I think...I think his friend was feeling ill. I think Sam is tending to him."

The king didn't buy this explanation for a minute. He was about to say as much when the queen jumped in, saying, "Oh my! Should we summon a nurse?"

"Oh no! I'm sure that's not necessary," Quinn said. "Or, if it is, then Sam will call one."

The king was about to say something else when the queen started whispering in his ear. While she was talking, the look of annoyance gradually vanished from his face. When his wife was done, he cleared his throat and said, "Well, obviously Samuel can't ignore a friend in need. But there are dozens and dozens of young ladies here dying to dance with a prince. I hope you can prevail upon Finn to..."

"Of course, Father."

.

Back upstairs Sam led Darren right up to the edge of the bed and pulled the blankets back for him. He had no idea why he felt nervous as he watched Darren take his shoes off and lie down on his back. God, he was gorgeous. He didn't want to stare or anything—he knew Darren was way more nervous than he was, and not just nervous but also a little shy, but...damn!

And anyway he had to look a little. If he was going to get Darren cleaned up, he had to see where exactly the fluids had landed. There was some glistening in Darren's thick patch of pubic hair. Some clinging, of course, stickily to the head of his beautiful cock. He really wanted to lick it up, but he was good, he only wiped it off with the cloth.

Blaine lay back, eyes closed, concentrating on not getting hard again while the prince cleaned him up. It wasn't even really the prince's hand touching his dick, he tried to tell himself, it was just a damp wash cloth. But telling himself that did no good at all. He knew perfectly well that the prince's hand was just on the other side of that cloth. Furthermore he knew that the prince was sitting there on the bed with him, looking at him nearly naked.

"There," Sam announced. "All clean."

"Thank you." Blaine opened his eyes to see Sam looking into them.

"I guess I should go take care of your pants now. Unless..."

"Unless?"

"Well, I'd really rather stay here and kiss you again. But, I mean, I don't want that stain to become permanent so..."

"The pants aren't really mine. They're Kurt's and he's taking them back, so...I mean, I bet he has ways to deal with stains."

Sam smiled. "So...that's a yes to more kissing?"

Blaine nodded. "Definitely a yes."

Sam had no idea why he was so excited about just getting to kiss this guy. Usually he'd be balls deep by now. Or...no, usually he would have already shot his load by now and sent the guy on his way. So he didn't know _why_ , but he was definitely excited as he leaned over the half-naked masked man on his bed. He tried to rein in his excitement a little so as not to overwhelm Darren. But no sooner had their lips touched than Darren was clutching the back of his head, pulling him in closer and harder.

.

Downstairs, Quinn was relaying the king's request to Finn.

"Wait, so your brother skipped out on his own ball to get laid, and that somehow means _I_ have to dance with all the women here?"

"He's in love, Finn."

"So what? I've been in love for years and I..." Finn wisely cut himself off before saying, _and I don't get laid a tenth as often as Sam does_.

"Do this for me and I'll make it worth your while later," Quinn whispered in his ear, and damned if that didn't get his interest. 

He _hated_ that it got his interest. He wished, God how he wished he could fuck his own wife because she _liked_ when he fucked her. Why did she have to dangle it in front of him as a reward? It was so degrading. Sometimes he wished he weren't so in love with her still.

He agreed to the dancing thing, though. What could he do? It wasn't like he really had a choice; he was as subject to the king's wishes as anyone. More so, in fact.

.

Upstairs, Sam was now fully on top of Blaine and trying to unbutton his shirt while still kissing him. Blaine wanted nothing more than to get Sam's clothes off too, but he wasn't sure if it was allowed or...well, what _was_ the protocol for making out with a prince when you're nearly naked and he's fully dressed? They didn't teach that in civics class!

The prince didn't have any similar concerns, of course, and as soon as he got Blaine's shirt unbuttoned he flung it open and started kissing his chest. He was very thorough, his lips and tongue caressing every inch of exposed skin, inching his way downward slowly. Blaine was a writhing, whimpering mess by the time Sam flicked his tongue in his belly button, peered up at him, and asked, "Can I keep going?"

"God, please, Your Highness!"

"Sam," Sam reminded him.

"Please, Sam!"

.

Rachel had seen Prince Samuel leave the ballroom with that rude, stuck-up Darren guy. And she was pretty sure that the two of them had been dancing together the whole time until then. All this led her to the conclusion that Prince Samuel was actually a homosexual. She wasn't shocked, though. Well, she was for about a minute, before she realized she could use this new information to her advantage. True, she would prefer to have her husband madly in love with her, but having him deeply in debt to her for keeping his secret could be a lot more useful. And if she had "needs" that he was unable to fulfill, well...it wouldn't be like he could stop her from getting them met elsewhere. Right down the hall, for example, as Jesse had crudely but intriguingly suggested.

Of course, for any of it to work she still had to be introduced to him. And he still wasn't back! What on earth could he and that condescending jerk be _doing_? Surely not...Ew!

She stopped herself from thinking that way. Tolerance. She had to be tolerant and open-minded if her newly forming plan was going to work. That and talk to the prince. Or at least _a_ prince, she thought as she saw Prince Finn ask some commoner to dance.

.

Blaine moaned and bunched up some of the sheet in his fist. The prince— _Sam_ —was kissing him lower and lower, heading inexorably, it seemed, toward his cock. Blaine had long since given up his attempt not to get hard again, and now he just wanted...God, how he wanted Sam's mouth to reach its destination!

Finally, _finally_ it did! Just the brush of his lips at first, and then a teasing little lick. It was enough, though, to make Blaine whine and shudder. It was enough to make him warn Sam, "I don't know if I can control myself to avoid a repeat of...you know."

Sam peered up at him through now-mussed bangs and said, "You don't have to try to control it."

"But—"

"There are no pants to stain, and there's no one around to see." Sam lovingly stroked his dick and added, "If you want to come in my mouth, I'd really, _really_ love that."

Without giving Darren a chance to respond, Sam took his cock all the way in his mouth. God, it felt so good, and it _tasted_ so good. It throbbed in his mouth, all hard and warm and vital. 

Sam was pretty sure Darren had never had a blowjob before, and so he was trying so hard not to rush. It was hard not to. He wasn't kidding when he told Darren that he _really_ wanted him to come in his mouth. And Sam wasn't, as a general rule, a patient person.

But now he was trying. He licked hard but slowly. He stroked Darren's dick but he didn't jerk it. He sucked gently at various spots on Darren's balls and cock—gentlest of all when he had his lips wrapped around the head.

He was dying to do more, but he waited.

It was so much. It was so much and yet still somehow not _quite_ enough and Blaine almost couldn't stand it. He gasped and he moaned and he felt himself rocking into Sam, into his mouth. "Please," he whined. "Please, please, please."

That was what Sam was waiting for. He gripped Darren's cock tighter and started to really suck. Darren responded by crying out, "Oh God!" and arching off the bed, thrusting his dick right up into the back of Sam's throat before releasing blast after blast of come.

Blaine was still gasping when it was over. Gasping to recover his breath and gasping in disbelief at what he's just done. Had he really just ejaculated in Prince Samuel's mouth? Had Prince Samuel really _told_ him to do it? Or had he just imagined it because he wanted it so badly?

But, no, he hadn't imagined it. Sam was over him now, kissing him (and Blaine could _taste_ his own come on Sam's mouth!) and saying sweet things to him and calling him baby, and it was real. It was really real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out to be outrageously long, so we cut it in two. Chapter 4 is basically done and we'll be putting it up in a couple days.


	4. Yo tambien te amo

Jesse had been sitting in this big empty room, just him and a guard called Karofsky, for what felt like forever. Karofsky had told him he was free to leave the palace, but he couldn't because then Rachel would be stuck there with no ride home.

The guard wasn't _that_ bad, Jesse guessed. He was a little gruff. Didn't really talk much. But he didn't tell _Jesse_ not to talk, so Jesse did. He told him all about Rachel selling him out. Karofsky didn't do anything helpful with this knowledge, like let him go and kick her out of the ball instead, but at least Jesse felt a little better after venting about her at some length. Enough length, in fact, that his voice was kind of tired now.

He still didn't feel like just sitting there, though, and Karofsky had confiscated his phone so he couldn't even entertain himself with apps or anything. "So tell me about you," he tried.

"I'm a guard at the palace."

"Uh-huh. And?"

"And that's all you need to know," Karofsky said. He really wished this guy would shut the hell up. Or, better yet, leave.

"Guard, huh? What kind of training do you need for that? Not that I'm interested. I'm about to graduate from the conservatory so obviously I already have lots of career options. There's this showcase coming up, in fact, that—"

"Do you wanna play checkers?" Karofsky asked.

"Oh, um, sure. Okay." Jesse hadn't played checkers since he was a kid. It wasn't the most intellectually challenging game or anything, but this Karofsky guy was just a guard, after all. And maybe if Jesse could throw a game or two without being too obvious about it, it would put the guard in a good enough mood to let him go.

But then...Jesse kept losing without actually trying to.

This kid was the worst checkers player Karofksy had ever seen...and that included little Princess Beth. (But, to be fair, he might be better than Princess Matilda.) He'd only even suggested checkers because the only other game in the detention room was chess, and he was afraid that might go on too long. He saw now that probably wouldn't have been a problem. The kid losing his mind might have been a problem, though, if his reaction to losing game after game of checkers was any indication. When he flung the whole board and all the pieces across the room, Karofsky stood quietly. "You're going to have to pick that up now, sir."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Jesse yelled. "How do you even _cheat_ at checkers?"

"Sir, if you don't pick up all these pieces and put them back in the box right now, our interaction is going to become a lot less cordial."

Jesse looked up at the much-bigger-than-him guard who was suddenly looming over him. He started picking up the pieces, because who knew what else the motherfucking cheater might stoop to? "I hope you know," he felt obliged to point out, "that I'm only humoring you so you don't go all Neanderthal and get violent over something as silly as a little game."

Karofsky didn't respond, he just kept watching.

"I mean, _I_ , at least am a civilized person. I wouldn't normally have thrown things, but...I mean, there are only so many provocations even the most civilized of us can endure in one evening."

"Like I told you before, you're free to leave the palace."

"You'd _like_ me to leave my sister stranded here, wouldn't you?"

"This is the same sister who's responsible for you being removed from the ballroom, right?"

"Yeah," Jesse said bitterly. " _Yeah_! Would she wait around here for me if our roles were reversed?"

"I don't know," Karofsky answered. "Would she?"

"Hell no! You know what? Fuck her! I _am_ going to leave."

Karofsky resisted the urge to cheer. He merely said, "That's your right. I'll provide you with an escort just as soon as you're done cleaning up this mess."

.

Sam covered Blaine's neck with kisses before asking, "How do you feel?"

"God," Blaine sputtered. So good he had no idea how to put it into words. It wasn't like he'd never had an orgasm before, obviously, but he'd never had one before that left him feeling so...so good and weightless and and just _happy_ all over. He wished he could explain it somehow, but all he managed was a weak smile and a breathy, "Sam."

Sam was happy too. He was happy to see Darren looking so content. But he himself was far from being content. He needed so much more Darren.

But he didn't want to push. Darren really did look content right now, and Sam didn't want to take more than he was prepared to give. But he couldn't help but hope...he couldn't help but ask: "Can I keep going? Can I make love to you?"

Darren peered up at him and said, "Of course."

"But only if you want me to," Sam said. "Don't say yes just because I'm a prince or whatever."

"No, not just because you're a prince," Darren told him. "Because you're _Sam_ and you're the most amazing person I've ever met and that was incredible and I don't ever want it to stop and so _of course_ I want you to."

Sam felt a huge grin spread across his face before he leaned down and captured Darren's mouth in a hungry kiss. It was kind of hard to remember all the stuff he'd been telling himself about going slowly and making Darren's first time good for him when he needed him now so badly.

He was reminded, though. He wasn't thinking about Darren's probable extra sensitivity and ground against him hard while kissing him, making the poor guy jolt and hiss. "Sorry! Sorry!"

"It's okay. That was just really intense."

Of course it was. _Of course_ it was too intense. Sam couldn't let himself not think of these things. He quickly hopped up off the bed.

"No, please don't leave!"

"I'll be right back," Sam promised. "I just need to get the oil."

He sprinted into the dressing room and returned as fast as he could, without his clothes but with the jar of coconut oil. The sight of Darren sprawled out on his bed took his breath away. But then Darren sat up and asked, "I'm sorry, did you say _oil_?"

"Yeah. See, we need a lubricant, or else—"

"No, I know about that," Blaine said. He knew a lot about gay sex, at least a lot of what you could read online about it. Which meant that he also knew that..."But, um, I thought oil made condoms not work?"

"Oh, that!" Sam said. He hardly ever even thought about condoms, since surprisingly few guys ever mentioned them. "No, we don't need condoms." 

"But I mean..." The last thing Blaine wanted to do was argue with Prince Samuel. It was just that he'd _always_ told himself that when he had sex with someone, one, it would be for more than just lust, and two, that he would be responsible about it.

"Kurt made me immune to STDs. So unless you can somehow get pregnant..."

"Really?" Blaine asked. "I mean, not that I don't trust _you_ , but..."

"But you don't trust Kurt?"

"Well..." Blaine thought it was best to not answer that out loud.

"How long have you known Kurt?"

"Like a week."

"Oh, wow. You're way smarter than I was. It took me a long time to figure out not to trust him completely. I still trust him too much, probably. But here's the thing. He might mislead you and he might even trick you, but he will never, ever _actually lie_. And so when he flat-out says something like, 'This will make you immune to STDs,' which he did say to me, you know it's the truth."

Blaine thought about it. He wanted Sam really badly, and he didn't want to screw this up. Also, he really did trust him. Which maybe was influenced by how badly he wanted him, but...But, no, what he'd just said about Kurt actually did fit with what Blaine already knew, so... "Okay."

"Okay?" Sam asked. It seemed like Darren was still uncertain. "No, you know what? Jake or Ryder might have some condoms. Or they could get some. Let me just ask them." He turned toward the door.

"Sam. I said okay and I meant it. I trust you."

.

"So where were you earlier?" Ryder asked. He knew Sue was making the rounds tonight and he'd be in trouble if she found him chatting with Jake, but, well...standing silently in the hall was getting old. This was going on longer than usual, and he really didn't want to think about what His Highness was doing in his dressing room with that guy. That is, he knew what His Highness was doing but...but, well, actually he didn't. It was uncharacteristically quiet, for one thing. But even more importantly, Ryder didn't want to think about how different the prince was with this guy than with all the others. The dancing! The kissing, in front of everyone! Not that many outsiders saw it—Shannon had seen to that, acting on orders from Princess Quinn—but Prince Samuel didn't know about that.

It was bad enough when His Highness was just fucking some guy. But this was...So, it wasn't like Ryder was under any illusions that the prince was going to suddenly going to fall in love with him. But as long as the prince just wasn't the falling-in-love type, it wasn't so bad. That is, it was bad. But _this_ , if it turned out to be what it seemed like, had the potential to become _unbearably_ bad.

"Earlier when?" Jake asked.

"What do you mean when? When I had to call you because you were late for His Highness's entrance!"

"Oh that. I was, um..." He looked up and down the hall. "You can keep this to yourself, right?"

"Of course."

"I was getting blown."

"Damn!" Ryder immediately thought of the little tidbit Jake had shared with him earlier in the day, and he couldn't help but jokingly ask, "By a guy?"

Jake stared straight ahead, silent.

"Holy shit, Jake! Was it..." Ryder was just about to ask if it was Darren when he heard the unmistakable key-jangling of his boss approaching. He shut his mouth and stood still, staring straight ahead.

Sue Sylvester marched toward them, smirking. "I see our lustful prince needed a respite from the party. He's more a fan of the non-dancing kind of balls, isn't he?"

"His Highness is in his dressing room, ma'am," Ryder said.

"Yes, I gathered that. I also gather he's not alone."

"No, ma'am."

"It must be so rewarding being the prince's private booty guards."

"Yes, ma'am."

"All right. Just call if you need any backup. I wish I could think of a way to make that an innuendo."

"Yes, ma'am."

Sue continued on her rounds, muttering to herself. "Backup. Back...up...There's an obvious one there I can't believe I'm missing. Damn, I hate being off my game like this... _Booty guards_ was pretty good, though."

.

Sam wasn't worried about anyone guarding his booty; he was way more into Darren's at the moment. Like, _into_ it...with his tongue. Darren was into it too, if his moaning and writhing was any indication. Sam didn't rim guys very often, but he wanted to be really sure not to hurt Darren. And it was so hot: Darren's ass was amazing, and even more amazing was how crazy the rim job was making him.

But it was also incredibly frustrating, because Darren was _so_ tight that he was taking a long time to stretch. And Sam really had been patient, but now he needed...

It suddenly struck him that what he needed wasn't what he had thought he needed. He didn't need to get his dick inside Darren's ass. He needed Darren's dick inside his. The realization made him groan so loud that Darren asked if he was all right.

Sam peered up and said, "I'm awesome." He licked up over Darren's balls and cock, which— _yes!_ —was rock-hard again. "Change of plans, though. If you don't mind."

Fuck! Blaine knew this was too good to be true. He tried but failed to keep the disappointment out of his voice when he replied, "Of course. I understand."

"You don't have to!" Sam assured him. "I just...I realized I really want you inside me, but if you don't want to we can do whatever you want."

Blaine was speechless. Literally. He just gaped down at the gorgeous prince between his legs.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I shouldn't have assumed that would be okay with you. Forget I said anything." He scooted back down to resume what he'd been doing a minute ago.

"Wait," Blaine said. "You really want that?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I really, really do." He was sorry he'd brought it up. Or rather, he was sorry the realization had struck him at all. Because now that he was aware of needing it, the prospect of not getting it was agonizing.

"But I've never..."

"I know that. I mean I'm sorry, maybe you didn't want me to know, but Kurt told me you're a virgin. I just really want...I hope you're not worried that you won't be 'good' at it or whatever because I don't care about your 'technique,' I just really want to feel you inside me. Only if you want to, but I mean...I just really, really hope you want to."

"I do," Blaine said. "I really, really do. If you're being serious that you don't care how bad I am at it."

"But there's nothing even to be bad at. You just put it in! And I'll even do the stretching and lubing stuff so—"

"That's okay. I mean, I'd like to do it. If you don't mind."

Sam handed him the jar of coconut oil. "You have to warm it up a little in your hands first." He wasn't sure if Darren needed any instructions beyond that, much less would welcome any, so he didn't offer any. Instead he just rolled onto his back and hugged his knees to his chest.

"Oh my God," Blaine muttered at the sight. In all the explicit fantasies he'd had about Prince Samuel, he'd never even dared to imagine him in this particular position, all vulnerable and open like this. He felt his dick jump at the thought of Sam being open like this for _him_.

It felt like forever, but finally Darren's warm, oily fingers were on him, tentatively circling his rim. Sam whined piteously. "Too much?" Darren asked him in alarm.

"No, not too much!" Sam assured him. It was the opposite, but he wasn't going to criticize. "You can put them inside any time you want. You won't hurt me." One finger slid in then, and it was still tentative but it was _inside_ , and it felt so good. "Oh God," Sam gasped. "Yeah. Like that. Like that but more."

Blaine applied a little more pressure. _Just_ a little more. He was pretty sure this wasn't Sam's first time, but he was terrified of hurting him. Besides...he was enjoying this so much, seeing Sam move under him like this at the slightest touch. He wanted to be inside him very, very much...but not enough to want to rush through _this_.

.

Finn was finishing up another dance with another random guest. Each dance was short; Quinn had probably instructed the band to play only very short pieces so Finn could dance with as many different women as possible. The music ended and he bowed to the young woman, who giggled and curtsied. "Thank you, Your Highness! God, I can't wait to tell my mom I got to dance with you!"

"The pleasure was all mine," Finn said, smiling at her. But he soon had to turn his attention away from her to find his next partner.

Or...not. Before he could even look around the room, this short brunette woman was curtsying in front of him and asking, "Your Highness, may I have this dance?"

It was totally against protocol for a non-royal to ask a royal to dance. Everyone knew that. Or...maybe they didn't. Maybe the public education system really had gotten worse than Finn realized. Or maybe she was a foreigner. Anyway, Finn didn't really care, as it saved him from having to pick someone out and ask her.

She pressed herself really close to him as they danced. Like, _really_ inappropriately close. Finn took a step back and held her, a little forcefully, at arm's length. "So where are you from, miss?" he asked. His guess was the U.S., but she surprised him by naming a suburb not that far from the capital.

"I saw Prince Samuel dancing with that man," she announced. "And if that display was to demonstrate the royal family's acceptance of the gay lifestyle, then I want to you know you have my full support."

"Thank you. That's very kind."

"But it looked like more than that to me," she went on. "And, you know, not everyone in this kingdom is as tolerant as I am."

"I disagree," Finn said. Hoping she'd get the hint he added, "Most citizens are respectful of each others' privacy." 

She didn't seem to get the hint, though. She ignored his comment entirely and said, "He should still marry a woman he can have little princes and princesses with. Someone like me. As long as he was discreet, I could be too."

Finn stopped dancing. "I beg your pardon."

"I'm just saying." Although the woman was much smaller than he was, she somehow got him dancing with her again. "And when I say that I can be discreet, I don't just mean about Prince Samuel. I also mean..."

Although he wanted no part of this conversation, Finn found himself looking down at her, waiting for her to go on. She actually batted her eyelashes at him—or at least he thought that was what she was doing; it was hard to tell behind her blinged-out mask—and said, "You're the one I've always wanted." She pressed herself against him and went on, "I would be your mistress..."

Okay, so yes, Finn had _just_ been thinking uncharitable thoughts about his wife regarding their sex life. And he had considered cheating on her before—he'd even come really close on an occasion or two. But he had never done it, and if he ever did, it certainly wouldn't be with some annoying, pushy, completely transparent schemer like this one. His only concern now was how to end this conversation without having her cause a scene.

Finn gestured over one of the guards. "Mr. Karofsky is going to finish this dance with you, miss," he said, stopping and letting the guard cut in.

"Oh! But—"

"Dave, please keep an eye on the young lady. If she becomes disruptive, she'll have to leave."

"Of course, Your Highness." 

Finn bowed stiffly at the woman and turned to look for a non-psychotic dance partner. As he walked away he heard her calling after him, "But you'll tell Prince Samuel about my offer, won't you? My name is Rachel and my phone number is..."

Karofsky spun the young lady around as Prince Finn walked away. "Do you have a brother, by any chance?" he asked her.

.

Sam really couldn't take any more. Yes, he'd promised himself he'd be patient, but now it was a super long time later, and Darren had _finally_ worked his way up to having a third finger inside him, and he was now kissing and licking his balls, and Sam was in real danger of coming without Darren's dick in him, and he desperately wanted to come _with_ Darren's dick in him. "Okay, okay," he panted. "Please. Please fuck me now. I can't..."

"Yeah," Blaine replied. He couldn't wait any longer either. Despite his two earlier orgasms his cock felt like it had never been so neglected. He groaned at the touch of his own hand rubbing some coconut oil onto it.

He was still a little nervous though. Not nervous that he was going to hurt Sam—Sam's responses to his fingers had assuaged that fear—but just...because. "Is this position good?" he asked. "I mean, do you want me actually on top like this, or...?"

"Yeah, just like this," Sam said, spreading his legs wider. "Please."

Blaine got up onto his knees and lined himself up. He gasped as the head of his cock popped inside Sam's welcoming entrance.

Sam gasped too. He gasped and said, "More, more, more!"

Blaine pushed in more. Slowly, because he was in awe at the sight of his dick sinking deeper and deeper into Sam's ass. It went in and in and in and then his balls were pressed up against Sam's ass and he couldn't go in any farther. He held that position for several seconds, just trying to let his brain catch up to the reality of what they were doing.

Sam let out a deep sigh. It was such a relief to have Darren finally all the way in him. But, God, why wasn't he moving? "Are you okay, baby?" he asked.

Blaine was vaguely aware that Sam had just asked if he was okay. But it was such a ridiculous question. He was so much better than _okay_. He tried to say as much, but his answer came out as something like _guh_.

Okay. Sam could work with this. He would just move underneath Darren. Yeah. 

Yeah, fuck, that was good. The way Sam was rocking back and forth on his cock was incredible. Blaine would have been happy to just let Sam keep doing that as long as he wanted. Or that's what his brain thought anyway, but some part of his body wasn't content with that, and his hips started moving. He was thrusting in gently, and then not so gently, and then Sam's hands were on his ass pulling him in even harder and deeper than he would have thought possible. 

Sam had his arms and legs wrapped around Darren, and he lifted his head up to kiss him. He just wanted every possible part of his body, inside and out, to be touching Darren's body, and it wasn't even about his impending orgasm, though he could tell that was going to be epic. What was going to be even more epic was Darren's orgasm. Sam wanted Darren's essence inside him so badly.

Once he got going, Blaine wasn't able to hold off very long at all. All he could do was hope that Sam would be understanding—which he had been about, so far, everything—and warn him somewhat incoherently, "I can't...I'm gonna..."

"God, yes, _please_ come inside me."

Blaine was going to do just that with or without permission, but hearing Sam _ask_ for it so desperately set him off even stronger. With one final deep and powerful thrust, his body locked up and his cock began to erupt violently.

Sam actually screamed when he felt the first gush of Darren's come blast inside him. He screamed and he shook and he bit down on Darren's shoulder as his own orgasm tore through him. He was still shaking when Darren's body went boneless and collapsed on top of him. At least he wasn't screaming anymore though. It was more of a breathy moan by that point.

As soon as he was able to form actual words, he said weakly, "I'm sorry about your shoulder."

"Huh?" Blaine asked, dazed.

"I said I'm sorry about your shoulder."

Blaine still didn't get it. "Huh?" he asked again.

"I'm sorry I bit your shoulder."

"Oh. It's okay. I didn't even notice." Blaine sighed and snuggled against Sam. But then he thought of something. "Not because I did something you didn't like, I hope."

"Not because of that at all," Sam said. "It was perfect. _You_ were perfect."

.

"Finally," Jake said. Finally they heard some sex noises.

"Finally?"

"Yeah, I mean...I was starting to worry that His Highness and that Darren guy had both passed out or something."

"That's not what I was worried about," Ryder said.

"What were you worried about?"

"No, I mean...I wasn't worried."

"Okay." Jake didn't believe this but decided not to press. "This guy's a lot quieter than the guy earlier today," he noted.

"Uh-huh," Ryder said. But Jake didn't understand at all. He didn't understand that the noises weren't that much quieter, they were just coming from farther away. Which meant Prince Samuel had taken Darren into his bedroom. Also, most of the noises weren't Darren's. Which meant, Ryder was pretty sure, that His Highness was the one taking it.

It made him furious. Prince Samuel probably had no idea that this guy he was letting fuck him in the ass had just gotten done blowing Jake, and God knows who else.

.

Blaine lay with his head on Sam's shoulder, wishing his stupid mask weren't in the way. That was really his only complaint, though, and considering how happy he was in every other respect, it wasn't a big deal at all.

Sam, however, groaned. Like, not a sexy groan. 

"What's wrong, Sam?" It still sounded weird to Blaine to call prince that. Weird, but in a way he loved.

"No, nothing. Just...I just thought of how my father's going to kill me for being gone so long," Sam admitted.

Blaine sat up. "Oh my God! I'm sorry! I don't want to get you in trouble with your...with the _king_."

"No, don't worry," Sam said, trying to pull Blaine back down onto his chest. "It's not your fault, and anyway, it would totally be worth it."

Blaine resisted the desire to allow himself to be pulled back down. "It wouldn't be worth it to me," he said. "I'd never forgive myself."

"You know he won't _actually_ kill me, right? There would be all kinds of bad press."

"No, I know, but...I'd feel terrible if he even yelled at you."

. 

David Martinez was sharing a dance with his longtime partner downstairs. "I can't believe the king and queen seem so supportive of Prince Samuel basically coming out like this," Dustin was saying.

"I admit I was pleasantly surprised," David agreed. "I'm not surprised they _knew_ , but I never thought they were especially eager for _everyone_ to know." He thought about it as they did a spin. "But what do I know? I'm hardly in their inner circle."

"You're pretty close, though. I mean, you've seen Prince Samuel in his underwear."

"Lots of men have seen Prince Samuel in his underwear. And out of them." Speaking of which, he looked around for Jeremiah. Last he'd seen him the poor kid was just standing around looking lovelorn. He seemed to be constantly trying to catch a glimpse of the prince, who hadn't made an appearance in the ballroom in quite some time.

"I still can't believe you turned him down that one time." Dustin said. "I mean, I love you, honey, but if he came onto me, I wouldn't turn him down."

"He's half our age!"

"Speak for yourself. He's a full..." Dustin did a quick mental calculation. "...52.5 percent of _my_ age."

"Yes, that 2.5 percent makes a big difference. Anyway, he only tops, from what I hear."

"Like that's a problem!"

"Not for me, claro, but for _you_. So don't get any ideas."

"Oh, come on! You can let me think about it at least. It's not like I'm ever going to get the chance in real life. Especially not if he settles down with that guy he was dancing with."

David laughed.

"What? You don't think it's possible?"

"Possible, I suppose," David conceded. "It just goes against everything I know about him, which, again, isn't that much more than his inseam. Mostly I don't want to get my hopes up."

"Your hopes?" Dustin asked. "I know you're an incurable romantic and I love you for it, but I wouldn't have guessed you'd be so emotionally invested in a twenty-one-year-old finding true love and settling down."

"No, but don't you see? If Prince Samuel wants to marry a man, we might actually join the twenty-first century and get same-sex marriage recognition in this kingdom."

Dustin stopped dancing. "You really think that's all it would take?"

"No, it's not _all_. It's the way things are headed everywhere; we'd hardly be trailblazers. But look. The king got the primogeniture laws changed when he had a daughter and it didn't look like he'd ever have a son. He seems more inclined to do the right thing when it's personal for him and his family."

"Hmm. I hope you're right. And for the record, if you are, _I_ get to propose to _you_."

"Not if I beat you to it."

"Ha," Dustin said. "Like that will happen."

"Oh really?" David dropped down to one knee. He took his boyfriend's hand and said, "Dustin Goolsby, I love you." He noticed the people around them stop dancing and turn to watch. "Would you do me the great honor of—"

"Wait!" Dustin dropped to his knees too and put his hand over David's mouth. "Please let me do it. Not now. When I've had a chance to write a really mushy speech. Please."

David rolled his eyes affectionately. "Okay. If we can consider ourselves pre-engaged."

"Oh, we're definitely pre-engaged now," Dustin said. He kissed David and whispered in his ear, "Te amo, corazón dulce."

"Yo tambien te amo, mi vida."

The small group of people who had stopped to watch the attempted proposal clapped as they kissed on their knees. And then David was shocked out of the moment by a vaguely familiar voice above him clearing his throat and saying, "Señor Martinez? I'm sorry to interrupt..."

He looked up irritably. But when he realized who it was he wiped the irritation off his face and stood up. "Is His Highness having a problem with his suit?"

"Something like that, I think," Ryder said. "He asked me to bring you to him."

David held his hand out to his pre-fiancé and helped him up. "I'm sorry, honey, I have to..."

"Yeah, it's fine."

"It shouldn't take long. Maybe if you see Jeremiah you could ask him to dance or something?" 

"But he's half my age!"

"He's less than that, and I just said _dance_!"

Once they were out of the ballroom, Ryder said, "I really am sorry to have interrupted."

"Oh, no, it's fine. I just hope you don't think anything inappropriate was going on. We were just getting pre-engaged."

"Oh," Ryder said. He wasn't sure what the response to a pre-engagement was. "Well then...pre-congratulations." He probably could have tried to sound a little happier for Señor Martinez. He liked the guy and everything, it was just...it wasn't the easiest time for him to be happy for other people who were in love.

Prince Samuel was still in his underwear when they got to the dressing room. His hair was even more messed up than when he'd stepped out into the hall asking Ryder to get Señor Martinez, and his face was flushed.

So was Darren's.

"Your Highness, what happened?" Señor Martinez asked. "I don't have the materials to make you a whole new suit!"

"Oh, no, mine is fine. It's over there." He gestured vaguely to a pile of clothing on the floor, which Ryder could see Señor Martinez trying very hard not to freak out about.

"Then...what can I help Your Highness with?"

"It's my friend, Darren," Prince Samuel said. Darren held out his hand and David shook it. 

David had noticed the man there when he first walked in, of course, but he'd been discreetly trying not to look. Now that he was looking, he saw that the upper half of his outfit was impeccable, aside from the sloppily tied tie. The pants were equally well made, but didn't quite match and, worse, didn't fit well at all. "Yes, I see," he said. That is, he didn't see _why_ Darren was dressed this way, but he could see that something needed to be done.

"He spilled something on his own pants," Prince Samuel explained. "And we sort of forgot to clean it before the stain set, so I thought he could borrow some of mine."

"Ah, yes, of course. I can't do a complete alteration with just my 'travel kit,'" David said, patting the pocket where he kept a few emergency supplies. "But I can manage something that will hold for the rest of the night."

"You're a lifesaver, David. Just as long as we can dance without him tripping on the legs, we'll be happy."

Darren spoke then. "Sam, you should go back now. I'll come down as soon as I can."

David and Ryder both froze. Had this guy really just addressed His Highness as _Sam_?

His Highness didn't seem to mind at all. He kissed Darren on the cheek and said, "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I'm not going anywhere without you."

The tailor was fast; it barely took him any more time to put a hem in the pants Blaine was wearing than it took Sam to get dressed again. Of the two, Blaine greatly preferred watching Sam. But he liked it even more when Sam finished dressing and then came over and stood behind him, hands on his shoulders.

David stood and examined his work. It looked pretty good, but of course he rarely was willing to settle for _pretty good_. He seemed to have little choice now, however, given the time constraints and the lack of proper tools. "This is a quick and dirty job," he explained apologetically. "I hope you won't think I'm always so sloppy."

"Of course not, David," Prince Samuel said. "Not that it actually looks sloppy. You're the best. Thanks again!"

"My pleasure, Your Highness." He bowed and prepared to leave. One thing was still bothering him, though. "Darren," he said, wishing he'd been told the young man's last name so he could address him properly, especially since what he was about to say could be considered overstepping, "I could give you a hand with that tie, if you'd like."

"Could you?" Blaine asked with relief. He never wore a bow tie, and he knew he hadn't gotten it right. "That would be awesome. Thank you so much!"

Sam held Darren's hand as they walked back to the ballroom. He wondered whether his father was still going to try to make him dance with girls. It seemed kind of pointless, now that everybody knew. And anyway, he wouldn't. He only wanted to dance with Darren.

Even though he led Darren into the ballroom through a side door, people noticed their return, and a crowd formed around them instantly. "Sorry," Sam said, clutching Darren's hand tighter.

"Sorry for what?"

"This," Sam said, gesturing to the throngs of people surrounding them. "I wish they'd give us a little privacy."

Blaine wished so too, but he felt incredibly selfish for feeling that way. "They just want to see you in person," he said. "That was the most I ever dared to hope for before...well, you know."

"Well, now I feel like kind of a dick for not wanting to dance with any of them."

Blaine thought he was probably supposed to encourage Sam to go dance with some other people. It _would_ really make the night of almost anyone he picked. But he couldn't, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he said what he really felt, which was, "To me it makes you the opposite of a dick."

"I'm so glad! I don't want you to think I'm a dick." They reached the dance floor and Sam bowed and asked him to dance, which Blaine of course accepted. Sam held him close and whispered, "Of course, I don't mind at all if you're thinking _of_ my dick."

Blaine blushed, because it was exactly what he was thinking of, actually. How could it not be? Now that he _knew_ exactly how it looked...and tasted...and felt...how could he think of anything else?

Rachel watched as Prince Samuel danced dance after dance with that asshole Darren. It was _so_ unfair and just plain rude. They weren't even taking breaks—they weren't even taking their _hands_ off each other—between songs.

If only she could talk to him! She reluctantly accepted that she might not be Prince Samuel's physical ideal—the evidence was right in front of her—but surely she could get him to see reason if she could just talk to him. 

The problem, in addition to the fact that he and Darren were apparently inseparable now, was that that guard Mr. Karofsky was watching her. Not every single minute, but often enough. Like she was going to hurt the prince. Like she could if she wanted to—he was almost a foot taller than her, for heaven's sake!

.

Brittany was dancing with some guy who claimed to be a count. She didn't think he really was. There were only like four counts in the whole kingdom who were around this guy's age. Three of them she'd already hooked up with, and she was pretty sure she'd recognize them even with masks on. The fourth was well known to be capital-G gay, and this guy was way too into her boobs to be gay. This fake count was a good dancer, though, so she didn't much care that he was lying to her in hopes of getting to do more than stare at her cleavage. It wasn't like he was going to _get_ to do more. And she couldn't blame him for staring; her boobs were awesome.

She would have danced with him again, even, since Santana was still catching up with Princess Quinn, but when the song ended a woman she didn't recognize asked if she could cut in. And she didn't mean cut in and dance with the so-called count, she meant cut in and dance with Brittany. Of course, Brittany was a better dancer than he was, so that was hardly surprising.

Rachel silently congratulated herself on her plan when the blonde woman accepted her offer to dance. Her intense scrutiny of the ballroom was really paying off! She'd seen this woman earlier with her arm around another woman's waist. More importantly, she'd noticed that the woman and her girlfriend had been talking to Princess Quinn on what looked, from a distance anyway, to be pretty familiar terms. So now not only was Rachel showing how open-minded she was by dancing publicly with an apparent lesbian, but she was also much likelier to be able to get close to Prince Samuel with someone known to the royal family.

The only problem was that Brittany, as Rachel learned her name was, seemed to want to lead. Rachel decided to try to distract her with small talk, hoping that would make it easier to steer her. However, she had no idea what you were supposed to say to a lesbian. "So..." she tried, "you're a lover of Sappho, I take it?"

Brittany frowned, trying to remember if she'd even heard of that guy before. "I don't _think_ we ever did it," she said. "Anyway, I don't really have lovers anymore since I got married. Except threesomes once in a while, but—"

"You're married?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah, but it's okay. My wife doesn't get jealous of me dancing with other people."

"But...same-sex marriage isn't legal here."

"Well it's not _il_ legal," Brittany said. "It just doesn't count, like, officially. Which is totally unfair, don't you think?"

"Totally," Rachel said.

"I mean, what if Prince Samuel wants to get married?"

"Totally."

"We should go tell him that," Brittany announced.

"Tota-...Go what?"

"Go tell Prince Samuel to change the laws so him and his boyfriend can be official and me and Santana can too."

"Yes, we should totally go talk to him right now!" Rachel agreed enthusiastically. She didn't even see Mr. Karofsky around; this was almost perfect! There was still the problem of how to get the prince away from Brittany, not to mention Darren, but she was confident she'd think of something.

A couple women were headed straight for the prince. Ryder intercepted them, saying, "I'm afraid I can't let you get any closer, ladies."

"We need to talk to the prince," the taller, blonde one said.

"His Highness is occupied."

"When is he going to dance with someone else?" the shorter, brunette one asked, kind of demandingly.

The blonde one said, "No, it's cool, I know him. I went to high school with his sister."

"His Highness is occupied."

"We just want to tell him to change the law to allow same-sex marriage," the blonde one said. 

The brunette one, meanwhile, seemed to be creeping closer.

"If you ladies don't back off I'll have to ask you to leave the ballroom."

"How can you say that?" the blonde one asked. "You're like a traitor to your own orientation!"

Ryder flinched. He wasn't in the closet exactly; he just didn't know how she could tell. He only flinched for a second, but it was long enough for the brunette one to get past him. 

One second Blaine was dancing cheek-to-cheek—well, cheek-to-mask—with Sam, completely oblivious to the hundreds of other people around them, and the next second he felt someone touching his elbow—someone he knew wasn't Sam because both Sam's hands were on his back, just barely above his ass. And when he looked to see who was intruding on his perfect moment, he couldn't believe it was fucking... "Rachel!"

Ryder was just about to grab the woman, but he held back when he realized Darren knew her.

Rachel flashed Darren her most dazzling smile. She was so glad he remembered her; that was going to make this easier. "Darren, don't you remember you were going to introduce me to His Highness?" she asked sweetly.

Sam felt Darren go rigid in his arms. "Are you okay, baby? Who is this?"

"She's...she's the same woman who was harassing me before you first asked me to dance."

" _Harassing_ you!?" Rachel objected. "We were having a friendly conversation!"

"You want me to introduce you to the prince, Rachel?"

"That would be lovely."

"Your Highness, may I present Rachel. She's intent on marrying you. She doesn't even like you that much, she just wants to be a princess."

Rachel sputtered incoherently.

"Get her out of here, Ryder," Sam ordered. Not because this Rachel was any threat, but because she was annoying Darren. That was something he wouldn't allow.

Blaine wasn't proud of how gleeful he felt watching Rachel get hauled away by the prince's guard. And she did really have to be _hauled_ —after she refused to cooperate, Ryder picked her up in a fireman's carry. She kicked and screamed and the whole bit. Blaine tried really hard not to smile, but that was a lost cause. He did manage not to cackle.

Everybody turned to watch the spectacle, naturally. It was the last thing Sam wanted. What he wanted was to be alone with Darren again. "Fuck this," he said, as he took Darren's hand and led him back up to his bedroom.

Darren followed quickly and silently. When Sam closed the door—guarded by just Jake this time—he asked, "Do you mind? Hanging out here instead of down there?" 

"Of course not," Blaine said. "If your father won't kill you."

"I don't think he will, actually." Sam had been surprised not to be reprimanded for leaving the ball for as long as he already had. So...maybe his father had decided to be cool about this. And even if he hadn't, Sam could deal with him later. "So what do you feel like doing?"

Blaine blushed. Being back in Sam's bedroom made him feel like doing exactly what they'd been doing before. Or if not exactly, then a close variation. But obviously he couldn't presume that Sam would want to again.

Darren sure blushed a lot. It was hot as hell actually, and Sam hoped that, in this case, it meant what he thought it meant. He stepped closer and reached for Darren's bow tie. "Maybe I should help you out of this?" he suggested.

"I'll probably never get it tied again if you do," Darren said.

"Why would you need to?" Sam asked. "When we can stay here all night with no ties on...no shirts...no pants..."

"God, that sounds perfect."

.

Blaine realized he must have fallen asleep at some point. He'd fallen asleep and now he was naked and wrapped up in the warm embrace of the prince, also naked and also asleep. It was perfect except for an annoying, persistent sound coming from the next room. That noise was really bugging him. He wondered if it was important somehow. "Your Highness?" He nudged the prince. "Sam?"

Sam's only response was to groan lightly and snuggle him tighter.

Blaine opened his eyes. The light in the room seemed different. Shit, the _light_! Light was starting to come in from outside. What time was it? Oh fuck, that noise he heard was his alarm! He jumped out of bed and found his pants. The phone wasn't in them!

That's right, these were _Sam's_ pants. The phone Kurt had given him was in the pants Kurt had given him, which were...shit! in the dressing room!

"Darren?" Sam mumbled. "Darren, come back to bed."

Blaine paused at the door to the dressing room. "I have to go," he said.

"What?" Sam sat up in bed, alert now but still adorably mussed. "Why?"

"Kurt. He said I had to be gone by dawn and it's already..." Blaine trailed off because he didn't actually know exactly how close it was to dawn. Just that it _was_ close.

"Fucking Kurt!" Sam rolled out of bed and ran into the dressing room, where Darren was pulling his pants on. "What did he say he'd do if you _didn't_ leave by dawn?"

"He didn't say," Blaine said. It was really tempting to just stay and take his chances. Maybe if it wouldn't be _too_ bad... "What do _you_ think he might do?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. He'd never not held up his end of a deal with Kurt. If it meant Kurt doing something to _him_ he would risk it, but not with Darren being the one to suffer. "You'd better go."

"Yeah." Blaine put his socks and shoes on, then rushed back into the bedroom for his shirt and jacket. The tie he just left lying on the floor. He didn't bother to button the jacket, or half of the shirt for that matter. He looked at his phone. 6:58. That gave him four minutes to find his way out. "I'm sorry," he said. And then, after the night they'd had together he decided it wouldn't be too forward to pull the prince close and kiss him one last time. And the prince, judging from the way he kissed back, didn't seem to disagree.

It was a mistake, though. Because now Blaine didn't ever want to stop kissing him. He did stop, though. He stopped when Sam pulled back and said, "You need to go."

Blaine looked at his phone again and saw the time change from 6:59 to 7:00. He didn't even have time to say good-bye now, he only had time to _run_.

Sam followed him out into the hall. Jake jumped in front of him. "Your Highness! Are you all right? Can I get you some...clothes?"

Leaning around his guard, Sam yelled down the hallway, "I'll find you! Do you hear me, Darren? Or whatever your name really is? Wait for me, I'll find you!" 

But Darren—or whatever his name really was—was already gone.


	5. Exactly How Rumors Spread

Blaine sprinted down a staircase, down a long hallway, and past a few groups of stragglers leaving the ball. He didn't stop running when someone yelled at him to take it easy, or when the early morning light hit his eyes, or when Rachel's mask fell right off his face. He ran until he was in the street, and even then he didn't stop until a limo screeched to a stop, inches away from hitting him.

A woman got out of the back seat, asking, "Are you all right?"

And Blaine recognized her! "Brittany?"

"Who are you?" she asked. 

"I'm..." Blaine couldn't remember if he'd told her his name was Darren. And anyway he didn't look like that anymore—the mask was gone, and he was wearing Jesse's old suit again. "Sorry. Never mind. I thought you were someone else."

"Oh, okay." She turned to get back in the car but then stopped. "Wait, you know my name though."

"Right. I just meant that you probably don't remember me. We met last night but just for like a minute."

"You were at the ball?" Santana called from inside the car. "Dressed like that?"

"Uh...no. Something happened to the outfit I wore at the ball, so—"

"Something happened to that one too," Brittany said. And she pointed right at his crotch.

Blaine looked and—oh, God!—there was a come stain on the crotch of Jesse's suit. "Fucking Kurt!" he said.

"I don't think you fucked this Kurt guy right if he came on your pants," Brittany said.

"Well, it was nice seeing you again." Blaine started walking in the direction he thought downtown was in, where he could catch a bus home. Except...shit, Kurt hadn't let him bring his wallet, and it hadn't occurred to him to put any cash in his pocket. "Um, Brittany? I hate to ask since we don't really know each other, but...do you think I could borrow bus fare?"

"You couldn't ask the guy who blew a load on your pants for bus fare?" Santana asked.

"I blew the load," Blaine admitted.

"Santana, don't make him blush!" Brittany chided. "That sort of thing just happens to guys. They can't help it."

"Those... _things_...do seem to just go off," Santana agreed. With a little shudder she added, "I don't know how guys walk around with them twenty-four/seven."

Blaine wondered if they'd forgotten he was right there. It was probably just as well if they had. "So...never mind. I'll find bus fare some other way. Sorry to bother you."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't go around asking strangers for money looking like _that_ ," Santana said.

"Yeah," Brittany said. She gestured at Santana to scoot over and held the door for him. "We'll give you a ride."

.

Azimio walked into the detention room and said, "Cut her loose."

"No way," Karofsky said. He was in deep enough shit already. "Did boss lady say when she's going to be down here to question her?"

"Who do you think told me to tell you to cut her loose?" Azimio asked. In fact he had forgotten to speak to Sue about the girl in custody like Karofsky had asked him to. Forgot and didn't see the point anyway. This tiny little thing? She was obviously just a harmless schoolgirl with a crush on one of the princes. 

"You see, Mr. Karofsky?" Rachel said. "The queen herself has demanded my freedom!"

Karofsky took a deep breath and counted to ten. This one was even worse than her brother when it came to not being able to keep her mouth shut. He gestured for Azimio to follow him out of the room. After closing the door, he asked, "Did you tell Sue about the brother? And about how Prince Finn said—"

"Dude. Yes," Azimio said testily. "I told her everything you told me. She said cut her loose."

"I think I should call her."

"Yeah, you do that." Azimio said. "Because you know how she loves being asked to repeat her fucking self. Especially when she's been up all night. Lack of sleep makes the boss understanding and patient as hell."

Karofsky cringed. Azimio was right: Sue was surlier than ever when she hadn't slept. "Okay, okay," he relented. After all, how much trouble could he get in for following his boss's explicit orders? "Just do me a favor and escort her off the grounds, would you?"

"Why should I?"

"Because I can't listen to that fucking _voice_ for another minute."

"Pussy," Azimio said. But he agreed to do it, if it meant getting the palace cleared out quicker so he could get some fucking sleep.

.

Jesse wasn't drunk. Not really. Like he totally could have driven himself home from the bar he went to after leaving the ball, except...well, the bartender was this really hot chick, and he thought he could sweet talk her into being his "designated driver." It wasn't like he _imagined_ the fact that she was flirting with him the whole time he sat at the bar! But when the bar shut down and he asked her for a ride (and maybe more!) she called him a cab instead. And then when he tried to explain that, never mind, he wasn't really drunk, she actually took his keys from him!

So now here he was, locked out of his own house, the cab long gone, and Blaine not opening the fucking door for him. He banged on the door, he called Blaine's cell, he yelled under his window...nothing. What. The. Fuck. 

His mom didn't come to the door either, and her car was gone. He called her. She didn't pick up until the fourth ring, but at least she did pick up. "Mom, where are you?"

"I'm at Terri's. Where are you?"

"I'm at home."

"And Blaine didn't tell you about the raccoon?"

"Raccoon? What? Blaine's not even here."

"What!? He was supposed to wait for animal control. What time is it...no, he shouldn't have left for work yet. What the hell!"

"Can you come home? I don't have my keys."

"How do you not have your keys?"

"I, uh...I left them with Rachel. So she could drive home. Yeah, she was having a great time—dancing with the prince and everything!—and she wasn't ready to leave yet so I left her the keys so she could drive home. I forgot to take the house key off the ring."

Shelby squealed. "She was dancing with Prince Samuel? I knew it, I _knew_ it! Oh, I'm so proud of her! Of course you were right to leave her the car. Wait, how did you get home then?"

"Cab."

"Ugh. That must have cost a fortune. No worries, though. It'll be worth it and we'll never have to care how much anything costs ever again. Just hold on; I'll be home as soon as I can."

.

Sam went back into his room. He screamed for Kurt, but Kurt didn't appear. He paced furiously. There had to be a way to find Darren, even without Kurt's help. 

Sam stopped his pacing when he noticed something unusual on the floor. It was a tie. An ugly one—nothing like anything he owned, and nothing like the one Darren had been wearing either. 

But...whose could it be if not Darren's? It wasn't Jake's or Ryder's. It couldn't belong David Martinez. Even Jeremiah...even though he was just an _apprentice_ tailor, it was impossible to imagine he'd have this tacky a tie. And no one else had been here, so...Darren must have been carrying it in his pocket or something. For what purpose Sam couldn't imagine, but the important thing was that he had a clue, he had Darren's tie! Not that he was sure how, exactly, the tie would help him track Darren down, but so far it was all he had.

Except...what about that woman? The one who was harassing him, the one Darren was so happy to see Ryder take away? They had obviously spoken before. It was unlikely that Darren had said anything to her that would be helpful, but it was worth a shot.

"Ryder!" Sam yelled, running out into the hall again. "Ryder, that woman you carried off! Go get her and bring her here."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Ryder turned and walked down the hallway. "Ryder, she might be able to help me find Darren. You gotta _run_ , man!"

Ryder ran. But when he got to the detention room, no one was there but Karofsky. "Where's the detainee?" he asked.

Karofsky knew it, he _knew_ someone was going to come looking for her. Still, he tried to sound casual when he said, "Sue said to let her go. She left a few minutes ago."

"You just let her walk out by herself?"

"Of course not! Azimio escorted her. He's the one who got the orders from Sue."

Ryder called Azimio. "You still with her?"

"With who?"

"What do you mean 'with who'? The ball guest Sue told you to let go."

"No, man, I left her outside the palace gates. What do you care, anyway?"

"Is she still there?"

"How the hell should I know? I'm halfway back to the palace already."

"Go back and see if you can find her."

"Fuck that. You go look if you care so much."

"His Highness wants her brought to him!"

"Which Highness?"

"The one I work for, dumbass. Prince Samuel. Go see if she's still there."

Azimio paused before responding, "Fine. I'll call you back."

"He hung up on me," Ryder informed Karofsky.

"Prince Samuel wants her? Fuck! I'm so screwed. I'm so fucking _screwed_!"

"Hey, it's not your fault. Sue told you to let her go."

"Yeah, well...Sue told _Azimio_ to let her go...according to Azimio." Karofsky _knew_ he should have called to check.

"Whatever," Ryder said. "It's still not your fault." He wondered how Prince Samuel thought that pest could possibly lead him to Darren. Darren had said her name, but so what? It wasn't like she had said his. Obviously the prince was just grasping at straws, but...but he cared enough about finding Darren to grasp at them.

Azimio called back a few minutes later to say that she was long gone and not to call and bother him any more. Ryder stared at his phone. He should go check himself, he knew. He didn't know Azimio that well, but he knew he didn't have a reputation for being the most conscientious of the guards. And Karofsky did know him pretty well and didn't seem to trust him that much.

On the other hand...

Azimio wouldn't really say he'd checked if he hadn't, not if one of the royal family was looking for someone. Right? And why would she hang around anyway? And even if she were still there, by some remote chance, how could she possibly lead Prince Samuel to Darren? And wouldn't Prince Samuel just be disappointed anyway if he did manage to track down this Darren? Almost certainly!

Not that that last point was any of Ryder's concern. He knew that. But...

Shit, Karofsky was punching the wall now. Ryder grabbed his arm. "Take it easy, man. It's not that big a deal."

"Easy for you to say." Karofsky managed to free his arm but didn't throw another punch at the wall. "Prince Finn specifically told me to watch that little bitch. And she was being fine, she started dancing with someone else, and I thought it would be safe to duck out for just a second to take a leak, but then no sooner do I get back than you're carrying her away, kicking and screaming, which I should never have let get to that point."

"But it's not like she actually hurt anyone," Ryder said. "And besides, if you had to—"

"And now I've let her get away, with no interrogation, no nothing, and Prince Samuel is looking for her. I am so getting fired."

"No, you're not."

"Sue's already on the fucking warpath. She fired Leslie and Jack this morning."

"What? No way! For what?"

"They didn't catch Princess Beth sneaking out of the nursery last night."

"Fuck," Ryder said. That seemed extreme for something that could happen to anyone. Maybe Karofsky was right. "Maybe I'll get fired too." And maybe it was just because of what a long night it had been, but the thought really didn't bother him.

"Maybe," Karofsky agreed. "Maybe not, though. If you get back to your prince."

"Yeah. In a minute. I just...I hate to leave you like this, man."

"Like what?" Karofsky scoffed. "What are you even talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Ryder stood behind him and, very carefully, placed his hands on Karofsky's shoulders. "You're so fucking tense."

Karofsky groaned at the touch. It was so unfair. This had only happened a few times before, and it was always when Karofsky most needed what he didn't want to need. He had no idea how Ryder knew. He'd taken what Ryder had offered before, but this time it seemed dangerous. "What if we get caught?"

"We're probably both getting fired anyway."

"Yeah but then they'd know that..."

"Dave," Ryder said, massaging his shoulders. "The king's _son_ came out last night. You think anyone cares that you're a faggot too?"

"Don't call me that," Karofsky said, muscles tensing even more under Ryder's hands.

"Why not? Cause you _don't_ actually wanna fuck me?"

"Obviously you know I do. You catch me at my weakest moments and you—"

"Yeah. It's _my_ fault you're a fag. Whatever, just do me." Karofsky had a point, of course: Ryder _was_ intentionally manipulating him in a weak moment. But only because he knew Karofsky had to be kind of pissed off before he would do what he needed. What they _both_ needed.

Karofsky punched the wall again. It fucking hurt his hand, which pissed him off even more. Which made him even hornier. That didn't mean he had to fuck Ryder though. He could just...

Ah, who was he kidding?

"Fine, if you want my cock that bad. But not here." He grabbed Ryder by the arm and dragged him to his bedroom. He wasn't too worried about Azimio next door—the walls weren't particularly thin and Azimio wasn't a particularly light sleeper, as far as he knew—but still he growled into Ryder's ear, "Don't make any fucking noise" before he pushed him face-down on the bed.

Ryder wriggled out of his clothes without turning to look at Karofsky. He briefly asked himself what the fuck he was doing, but luckily it wasn't long before Dave was shoving a couple lube-coated fingers up his ass and all he could worry about was not making any fucking noise. That was difficult enough to require all his concentration, because Dave was being careless, and it hurt. It was okay, though, it was what he wanted. At least...among things he could actually have right now, this was the closest to being something he wanted.

Karofsky fucking hated Ryder. Hated him and envied him and wanted him all at the same time.

He hated him for having so much power over him, for having it and for using it. He envied him for pretty much the same reason. He wanted him for the obvious reason: the guy was fucking hot. Not to mention that he was pretty much the _only_ guy Karofsky ever even had the opportunity to fuck.

He sometimes wondered what it would be like to have Ryder as an actual boyfriend, even though he hated him and even though Ryder had made it clear he was only interested in an occasional (very occasional) fuck.

He had a great ass, though. Other great parts too, but Karofsky never got to properly appreciate any of them. They never kissed or "made out" or anything; they always got right to it, always with Karofsky taking him from behind.

Ryder had to bite down on the pillow when Karofsky entered him. He bit down and clutched the edges of the mattress and _did not scream_ and willed himself to relax and just take it until, after a minute or two, the pain turned to (primarily) pleasure. He had to keep biting down, but by now it was to hold in a different kind of scream.

Karofsky plowed him ruthlessly. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and the headboard slamming against the wall. And then came the gurgling noise from the back of Dave's throat, the one that signaled he was almost done. There were just a couple more extra-deep thrusts, and then everything was still. Ryder felt the warm liquid filling his ass and he heard Dave breathing heavily above him and that was all.

Ryder looked beautiful. Not his face—well, probably his face, but Karofsky couldn't see it right now—but his back and his shoulders and his arms, muscles tense as he gripped the mattress, a thin sheen of perspiration glistening on his skin. Karofsky sort of loved him right now...though he knew it would pass in a minute. He should kiss him, he thought. He should lean down and kiss the back of his neck before the feeling passed.

He didn't, though. Ryder scooted out from under him and got off the bed and the moment was gone.

Ryder wordlessly gathered his clothes and retreated to Karofsky's bathroom, where he locked the door and leaned back against it. Letting everything he was holding drop to the floor, he took his aching dick in one hand and shoved a couple fingers from the other one up his fucked-open asshole. The jizz in there squished around so loudly that he wondered if Karofsky could hear it through the door. 

Needing some fucking _release_ more than anything, Ryder jerked himself furiously. Release was elusive, though; he had to chase it much harder than usual. What finally enabled him to catch it was an image that flashed through his mind—super brief but super vivid—of turning his head to watch Karofsky fucking him, and seeing Prince Samuel there instead. He gasped and shivered right before he started to unload onto his own abs, his mind going momentarily blank and a feeling of well-being spreading through his body.

He slumped against the wall and enjoyed the feeling for as long as he could—about a minute—before he had to get cleaned up and dressed and go tell Prince Samuel that he had failed him.

.

Rachel stood outside the palace gate, waiting for another car to come out. None of them had stopped for her so far, but sooner or later one had to. Right? She was a bona fide damsel in distress, stranded here with no car and no phone even. That one guard, even though he was the one who finally freed her, was very rude when she asked if they could go back for her phone. He actually told her to shut the f--- up! And then when she persisted, he didn't respond at all. 

All in all, the night had been terrible. She couldn't believe she used to look _up_ to the royal family. It turned out they weren't a class act at all. She was just glad she had realized this before making the huge mistake of marrying one of them.

Wow. The last car she saw was a really long time ago. Maybe there weren't going to be any more. She was going to have to walk, at least until she got to some place with traffic she could flag down or a phone she could use. This was absolutely the last time she would ever go to the palace.

Oh, and she was going to _kill_ Jesse for abandoning her.

.

"This crazy girl was dancing with me, and she was _super_ into me, which, like, I can't blame her for cause I'd be into me too if I wasn't already me," Brittany said, while Santana nodded along. "And then she was like, 'Let's go tell Prince Samuel that we should be allowed to get married,' and I was like, 'Slow down, because one, I just met you, and two, I'm already married,' but she totally pretended she didn't hear me, and then she dragged me halfway across the ballroom—and let me tell you, she's a lot stronger than she looks—and she started flirting with the prince's gay guard—"

Blaine laughed. "That's so Rachel."

"You know her?" Santana asked.

"I mean...I heard the commotion. Everyone did, right?"

"Yeah, but how did you know her name?" Santana persisted.

"Because I mentioned it," Brittany said. "Keep up, San. Now back to my story: She's flirting with the gay guard, which isn't working, obviously, but then he starts to check _me_ out because, you know, even though he's gay, duh! And then Rachel goes into this jealous rage, and she's like, 'If you're going to flirt with my future wife—which, don't worry, Santana, it isn't going to happen—then I'm going to go seduce your lover the prince—"

"Wait! The guard and the prince are lovers?"

"Well, yeah, I mean...I assume so."

Santana nodded. "It only stands to reason. There's pretty much no good-looking gay guy in the capital that Prince Samuel _hasn't_ slept with."

"Oh." Yeah, of course. Sam...Prince Samuel could have any guy, so why _wouldn't_ he have them all? "So, um, which guard is the gay one?" Blaine asked. Not that he was going to imagine the two of them together. He was going to try very hard not to, in fact, and..."You know what? Never mind."

But Santana answered anyway: "The white one."

Brittany nodded and added, "Though I wouldn't be surprised if he was getting some from the black one too. He's been known to persuade straight gays from time to time. And anyway, I'm not sure he's completely straight. Him and his brother both. I think they're—"

"Ew, Britt, that would be incest!" Santana said.

"I didn't mean _that_! I just think they're both flexible. It probably runs in the family or something."

Blaine didn't know who Jake's brother was, nor did he care. Unless, of course, this brother was _also_ a lover of Prince Samuel's.

Not that it was any of his business. None of it took away from the one night he had had with the prince. He just had to remember that.

Brittany finished her story about Rachel's craziness, but for some reason Blaine couldn't really enjoy it like he should have. Even the part about her getting hauled away kicking and screaming had him barely chuckling.

.

Poor Ryder. He'd seemed so broken up about not being able to find that woman. He looked like he'd maybe even been crying or something. Sam had told him it was okay, she was a long shot anyway. He'd told him and Jake to go get some sleep.

Not that he himself could sleep. He knew it was stupid to feel this way, but the bed felt empty and lonely without Darren. 

How was he going to find him?

He picked up the tie again, his only clue. Maybe...

He found his phone and opened his contacts to look for David's number.

"Whatcha doin'?"

Sam spun around to see Kurt making himself comfortable on the bed. "Get up!" he shouted. He didn't want anything or anyone diluting Darren's scent on the sheets. But then, remembering he needed Kurt, he added, "Please."

Kurt smirked at him as he stood up. "So. How was the ball?"

"Kurt, he's so...And I think I'm in...Please, you have to tell me how to find him again!"

"Hmm. Interesting. So what you're saying is that you were _wrong_ to insist on me not telling you who he was."

"Yes! Yes, I was _so_ wrong, Kurt." Sam, feeling it was impossible to lay it on too thick in this situation, got down on his knees in front of Kurt. "I was wrong and you were right— _of course_ you were right—and I'm so, so sorry!" 

"Oh, of course you are, sweetie." Kurt ruffled Sam's hair as the prince peered up at him beseechingly. "And I accept your apology. It's just too bad that..."

"Too bad that what?"

"Well, we made an agreement. So now my hands are tied." Kurt held his wrists together to illustrate.

"You don't even have to tell me who he is! Go tell _him_ to come here and tell me himself."

"He's not allowed to tell you either. That was _your_ stipulation, honey. He's not allowed and, just to be sure, I made it so he's not physically able."

"Then tell him to come here and say something else! Tell him to come to the palace with a message for me that...I dunno, that the rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain."

"A code? I appreciate that you think that might not violate the letter of the law, but it so _clearly_ violates the spirit that it's out of the question."

"But there must be something you can—"

"Tell me your ideas. I bet you've been trying to think of ways to find him without me."

"Well, I..." Sam decided he probably had nothing to lose by showing Kurt the tie, and he held it up. "I think this is his."

Kurt inspected the tie. It was Blaine's, all right...or rather, Blaine's stepbrother's. "And you still want to find him?" he asked. "That thing is hideous."

"You don't really think I love him for his fashion sense, do you?" Sam snapped.

"You love him?"

Sam nodded seriously. "Yes. So, please..."

"So you have a clue. Good. What are you going to do with it?"

"I thought I'd call David, you know, my tailor? And ask him if he knew what shop sold these, and then I could go to the shop and—"

"Honey," Kurt said. "Just look at the tag. This thing is from Target. You're never going to find a Target employee who remembers selling a particular ugly tie ten years ago."

"It's ten years old?" Sam asked. That could be an important clue.

"That's just a guess. My point is..."

"No, I get your point."

"I do like seeing you on your knees, sweetie, but since I'm guessing you're not in the mood to blow me right now, why don't we sit?" Kurt suggested. He moved to a chair by the window, and Sam followed, pulling another chair over in front of him. Kurt leaned forward and took Sam's hands. "Are you sure it's love?"

"I mean, I think so. I've never been in love so I don't have anything to compare it to, but, like...what else could it be?"

" _Maybe_ it's just that you've finally bottomed for someone besides me and you liked it—a _lot_. So much that you've convinced yourself it's love when really it's just that...you like taking it in the ass."

Sam snatched his hands back from Kurt. "That's the most ridiculous theory I've ever heard."

"So you didn't like his cock in your ass?"

"Of course I liked it! That's not what...I only let him fuck me _because_ I'm in love with him."

"You 'let' him?"

"Fine. I asked him to. I _wanted_ him to. _Because_ I'm in love with him.

"Mm-hmm," Kurt said. He'd seen this before—guys who insisted they were strictly tops even though it was clear they loved getting fucked—but he had never understood it. They would be so much happier if they would just admit what they liked.

"I'm going to find him, you know."

"Good for you."

"I'll just...I'll go on TV. And I'll lay it all out there, that I'm looking for the man I fell in love with at the ball, and I'll ask him to come here—and he doesn't have to _say_ he's Darren, since that's not allowed—so that I can meet him properly and then propose to him."

Kurt laughed at that.

"What?" Sam asked defensively.

"You don't see anything wrong with that plan?"

"Since you apparently do, why don't you tell me?"

"Well...I'm not even sure which problem is the _most_ obvious: the fact that gay marriage isn't even legal here—"

"It will be! Or we'll move somewhere that it is."

"O...kay. Then since you've got that one figured out, how about the problem of all the fake Darrens you're going to have show up with hopes of marrying into royalty?"

"Duh, you really think I hadn't thought of that? But so what? It's not like I've never met him before. I'll know which one is the real Darren."

"How? Do I need to remind you he was in disguise?"

"He was wearing a mask, big deal. I know what his eyes look like and his cute little butt and his hair and his—"

"You don't, though. Some of those things, maybe, but not all of them. I disguised him more than just putting a mask on him."

"You what!?"

Kurt shrugged. "You didn't want to know who he was so I changed his looks."

"What did you change, Kurt?"

There was something about the way Sam asked him that...well, there were a few somethings. The tone, the way it was a demand more than a question. The way Sam's face turned red when he said it, the way his eyes turned icy. Kurt hadn't really been planning on making things harder until that moment. He matched Sam's steely gaze and told him, "I am not going to tell you what I changed."

"Kurt, come on! Please!"

The _please_ softened him, just a little. That and the disappearance of the iciness. "I'll tell you one thing I didn't change, though. I didn't change his dick. I mean, cosmetically maybe. I won't say yes or no to that. But the shape of it, the weight of it...get it inside your ass again and it'll feel the same. Find the dick that fits you just right, and there's your guy."

Sam stood up. "You can't be serious."

"Have you ever known me to joke around?"

"So I'm just supposed to get every guy in the kingdom to fuck me..."

"Well, you know. You might want to start with the gay ones."

"This isn't funny, Kurt!"

"So you _do_ think I'm joking!"

"So I'm just supposed to go on TV and say that I'm in love with a stranger from the ball but I need him to fuck me so I can be sure it's him?"

"Yeah, I don't know that I'd recommend—"

"Cause, I mean, there'd still be the fake-Darren problem, and if I had to let them all fuck me..."

"Plus your father would—"

"Plus my _father_!" Sam's father had been surprisingly okay with, well, everything so far, but there was no way he'd be okay with _that_. "So what am I supposed to do? Go to every gay bar in the kingdom?"

Kurt actually hadn't thought it through that far. He knew Blaine had never been to a gay bar in his life, but it wasn't like he wanted to discourage any plan Sam had that would mean him getting fucked more. (Which he was interested in mainly for Sam's own happiness and not just because it was so hot to watch.) "I'll leave the strategizing up to you for now," he said.

"But what about..." Sam started. But Kurt was gone. Fucking Kurt!

.

Blaine knew something was seriously wrong when the limo turned onto his street and he saw Shelby and Jesse standing in the driveway. "Stop, stop!" he yelled up to the driver. The driver slammed on the brakes, and of course Shelby and Jesse turned to look. "Shit, turn around!" 

The driver did what he asked, though Brittany and Santana started bombarding him with questions. "I'm really sorry about this," he told them. "And I appreciate the ride, but if my stepmother sees me getting out of a limo...Stop please!" As soon as the car stopped he jumped out and ran into a neighbor's back yard. He made his way through other neighbors' back yards until he reached his own, the only one on the block with a fence. Naturally the gate was locked, so he was going to have to climb over it.

He had just gotten one leg over when Shelby and Jesse came into view. "What the hell are you doing, Blaine?" Shelby asked.

"I, uh...I just finally got rid of that raccoon."

"Animal control was supposed to do that."

"Yeah, they never showed. I decided to take matters into my own hands. They are going to get one angry letter from me, I can tell you that."

"Ooh, a letter!" Jesse said. "That'll show 'em!"

"Why weren't you answering your phone?" Shelby asked.

"Uh...I dunno. I didn't know it was ringing. Maybe the battery died?"

"You don't even know if your phone was working? Did you ever think that maybe animal control was trying to call? Did you even try to call _them_ back and ask what was taking so long? Jesus, Blaine, I ask you to do one thing and you—"

"Is that my old suit?" Jesse interrupted.

"Uh...yeah. I mean, you never wear it anymore, so..." Blaine hopped down into the yard.

"That doesn't give you the right to wear it! Especially for chasing wild animals around!"

"If that's even what he was doing," Shelby added. "Were you out having a sleazy gay hookup?"

"No!" Even if it was just a hookup—although it didn't really feel like it _was_ just that—there was nothing sleazy about it. Not that it was any of Shelby or Jesse's business in any case.

"You're assuming he'd even be able to score," Jesse said to his mother. "I mean, look at him!"

"You're the one who picked out this hideous suit," Blaine muttered.

"Excuse me? _I_ was able to pull it off. And anyway, that was in tenth grade. Fashion has changed since then, or maybe you hadn't heard." Jesse studied the suit. "What did you get on it?"

Blaine instinctively covered his crotch with his hands. "Nothing. I just spilled something."

"Spilled _what_?" Shelby asked.

"His seed!" Jesse exclaimed. "Oh my god, he couldn't get laid so he just came in his pants!"

"In _your_ pants," Shelby corrected him. Turning to Blaine she said, "That's so disgusting! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"That's not even what it is," Blaine said. "Jesus."

Jesse asked, "Then why are you blushing? Or is it piss? Did you piss yourself? I'm not sure if that's better or worse."

"Fuck you," Blaine said, walking past both of them.

"Don't you use that language with your brother! Come back here and apologize, Blaine! Don't walk away when I'm talking to you!"

"Fuck you too," he said, not turning around. "I have to get to work."

Shelby was stunned. She couldn't let that little brat get away with treating her and her son this way. On the other hand if he got fired for being late, that would be disastrous for the whole family. "Don't think we're not discussing this further when you get home!" she shouted at his retreating back.

.

Sam's mother knocked at the door to his sitting room, even though it was partially open. "That's nice," she said, referring to the music he'd been playing on his guitar before she interrupted him. "I don't recognize it."

"Yeah, I was just sort of...making it up. Come in, please." He set the guitar down and waited for his mother to sit before he did too.

"We were hoping you'd come down to lunch so we could hear about your beau."

Sam smiled a little at the word _beau_ , but, yeah, he knew everyone would have a lot of questions about Darren. That was why he hadn't gone to lunch.

"We'd love to meet him," the queen persisted.

"Yeah, I know. It's just that he's...shy."

"Shy?" she repeated skeptically. "He didn't seem especially shy last night."

"Well, no, but I mean..."

"What's his name?"

Sam just looked at his mother helplessly.

Lightly touching her son's forearm, Mary said, "Sammy, I know you're very fond of him. But you must realize that we can't allow you to seriously court someone we know nothing about. If there's something you're worried we're going to find out about him, it would be best to tell me now."

Sam tried desperately to think of something he could tell his mother that would satisfy her. Just making up a name seemed like a terrible idea, and he literally couldn't think of anything else. "I don't know his name," he confessed.

His mother looked confused. "How do you not know his name? How did you two even meet?"

"We met last night at the ball, and..." Okay, there was no way he was going to drag Kurt into this. Having a fairy godmother was one thing he actually _had_ managed to keep from his mother all these years, mainly because he knew she'd never believe him. "...and he said he couldn't tell me his real name because it was a masked ball, and everyone was supposed to be anonymous. And it was cute, right? And, like, a joke, sort of. But then he left, he had to leave very suddenly this morning, before I could get him to tell me what his real name was."

Mary studied her son and decided she believed him. "It sounds like you want to find him again."

"I want to find him again so much, Mother." There were tears in Sam's eyes when he said this.

"Don't look so sad! It should be easy."

"It _should_?" Sam really didn't expect to hear his mother, the queen, express the opinion that letting every gay man in the kingdom fuck him should be easy.

"Of course! Everyone who attended the ball had to sign in with the guards. They checked IDs and everything. Just go look at the books..." Mary trailed off because her son had already jumped up out of his chair and made a dash for the door. He returned a second later, kissed her cheek, and then was gone again.

.

Jake wasn't in the habit of sleeping later than Prince Samuel, so when he woke up and couldn't find him it was disorienting. Ryder was still asleep (and _that_ part wasn't unusual), so Jake had to go looking through the palace for the prince. Jake just hoped he hadn't decided to leave the palace grounds without a guard. It was strictly forbidden, but of course it wasn't the prince who would get in trouble for doing it, it would be Jake and Ryder for letting it happen.

The prince hadn't left the grounds, it turned out. Jake found him—after looking pretty much everywhere else first—in Sue Sylvester's office. "Your Highness! What are you...Can I help you with something?"

"Oh, hi, Jake," Prince Samuel said, barely looking up from the book he was looking at. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine, thank you. You could have woken me up if you had a security concern." Jake hated to think that the prince might have woken Sue instead. Not that palace employees, no matter how sleep-deprived, were generally rude to the royal family, but then the general rules didn't always seem to apply to Sue. 

"No, no, not a concern." Prince Samuel looked up from the book, only to type something into Google. He started to write something in a notebook, one that he'd apparently written a lot of other notes in already, but then he paused to look at Jake. "The queen is a genius, you see. She pointed out that whoever Darren is, he must have signed in. So all I have to do is eliminate everyone from this book who it couldn't be—the women, the men I already know, et cetera—and then I can start tracking him down!"

"Oh." Jake felt his stomach fall.

"I mean, I know it'll mean a lot of leg work. Don't worry, I'm not going to make you and Ryder do it all."

"No, Your Highness, it's not that. It's..." Jake debated whether he _really_ needed to tell the prince. It would break his heart, after all. On the other hand, _not_ telling him would mean sending him on a wild goose chase...and he'd still get his heart broken. "You won't find Darren in there."

"Well, no, I know it's not his real name. That's why—"

"No, I mean...he didn't sign in at all. I...I snuck him in without checking his ID."

Prince Samuel just stared at him. It kind of scared Jake, honestly. Jake had seen him angry before, but almost never at him, and never _this_ angry at anyone.

"Your Highness, I'm so sorry! I didn't think..."

The prince stood and walked out of the room.

Jake hesitated a moment, not sure whether running after Prince Samuel would make things better or worse. He still wasn't sure when he did run after him, but he felt like he needed to try to explain, even if it wouldn't help. 

He caught up with the prince on the stairs and told him everything about Kurt and how he hadn't let "Darren" bring an ID and insisted the whole mess was Prince Samuel's fault. He concluded by saying, "And I'll understand if you want to fire me, but if I'd thought you might fall in love with him..." He had to just trail off, though, because he didn't actually know what he could have done differently.

Sam leaned back against the railing, letting Jake's story sink in. At first all he could think to say was, "Fucking Kurt!"

"Yes, Your Highness," Jake agreed. "So...would you like me to pack my things?"

Sam sighed. "Of course I don't want you to go, Jake. You've been with me longer than anyone. And if you _hadn't_ helped Kurt, it just means I wouldn't have met Darren at all. I should be grateful—I _am_ grateful—I just don't know what to do. Or rather...I guess I do know what to do." It looked like it was back to the gay bar plan.

"I'll help any way I can, Your Highness."

"It's a good thing you're not squeamish about man-on-man sex."

. 

Work was busy. It always was on weekends; Hungry's had the most popular brunch buffet in the area. Well, and one of the only ones. People who wanted a trendier or more upscale brunch tended to live—or at least dine—closer to the capital. Still, the one at Hungry's was good, and Blaine liked working it because he did the omelet/eggs-to-order station, which meant he got to see a lot more people than he did weekdays, when he was back in the kitchen for his whole shift. Plus, of course, there were the tips. The wait staff at Hungry's always shared their tips with the kitchen staff, but when he worked the egg station he got tipped directly. Shelby didn't know he got tips at all. Most of his regular wages went to household expenses, but he was saving his tip money up for a down payment on his own house. It was still going to take a while, though.

His buddy Dani, one of the waitresses, had been looking like she wanted to talk to him all day. She kept walking past his station whenever she wasn't too busy, but it always turned out to be at a time when he had a long line of people waiting, and he could only smile at her apologetically.

He figured it was probably something about the ball. Dani had been obsessed ever since it was announced, like with the fashion stuff, the ball gowns and all that. Blaine liked to tease her for being the girliest lesbian he knew. Of course she was also the only lesbian he knew...except not really anymore, since he now sort of knew Santana and Brittany. Not that he'd be able to tell Dani about them. It killed him not to be able to tell her he actually went to the ball, but you just can't tell people stories that start with "So it turns out I have a fairy godmother" and expect them to take you seriously ever again.

They didn't get a chance to talk until they were back in the kitchen when brunch ended, and by then Dani couldn't contain herself. Grabbing both his shoulders, she told him, "I had a table that were at the ball last night!"

"Yeah? What did they wear?"

"Shut up, Blaine, this is more important. Prince Samuel is gay!"

Blaine wasn't even acting when he looked surprised. Being at work just like a normal Sunday had made the whole night seem so unreal, and yet...it had been real. It had been real, and if word had already spread to Hungry's then probably everybody knew about "Darren," or soon would.

"Did you even hear me, Blaine? I said that—"

"Danielle!" their boss yelled. He rushed over from where he'd been looking for something in the freezer. "Don't go spreading rumors about the prince in my restaurant! What if some of the guests heard you?"

"I heard it _from_ some of the guests."

"That doesn't give you the right to repeat it."

"So what if he is gay?" Blaine asked.

"I don't care if he is or not. But if he is, he obviously doesn't want people to know."

"But he was dancing with a man all night," Dani said. "And not just dancing, from what I heard, but—"

"Exactly! From what you _heard_. This is exactly how rumors spread. And again, even if it were true, the fact that none of the reputable write-ups of the ball mentioned it should be enough to tell you that he wants it kept private."

"But—"

"Enough, Danielle! I won't allow you to say another word."

.

It was late afternoon and Jake still hadn't seen Ryder. He was on his way to his room to make sure he was okay when he got a text from Sue: "My office. NOW." So Ryder would have to wait another few minutes.

No sooner was he inside the office—the door hadn't even fully closed behind him—when Sue said, "I'm going to make this brief: You're fired."

Jake laughed. Not that his boss was known for joking around about that sort of thing, but he just couldn't believe she was serious.

"Shane will accompany you to your room to pack your things, and he will escort you off the grounds." Jake looked at Shane, who he hadn't even noticed was there before, but Shane didn't meet his eye. "You will speak to no one on your way out. If you attempt to speak to anyone on the way out, or if you attempt to contact anyone inside the palace after you're gone, you can say good-bye to your severance pay and to any referrals for future employment elsewhere."

"But...why?"

"You intentionally circumvented palace security to sneak an unauthorized individual into the royal ball. Do you have any idea how reckless that is? He could have taken out any of the royal family, not to mention hundreds of innocent citizens."

Jake felt ill. It only took him a second to realize how she knew, and then he couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to speak freely in the security office when all the guards knew she had it bugged. "No, but...he just wanted to meet the prince."

"The fact that no harm came of it is the only reason you're being merely fired and not arrested."

"No, but Kurt _promised_ that—"

"His name is Kurt? Kurt what?"

"No, Kurt is...Kurt is someone else. The point is—"

"We're done here." Sue signaled to Shane, who placed his hand on Jake's upper arm.

.

Ryder had been avoiding the prince all day...which wasn't really good when you were one of the prince's personal guards. It wasn't actually required that he be with him _all_ the time, not when the prince was at home and there was no one visiting him. Still. Ryder knew he had to either get his shit together or quit so that the prince could hire someone new who did have his shit together.

Prince Samuel summoned him after dinner. "Did Jake tell you the plan before he headed to his room?"

"No. I haven't actually talked to Jake today."

"Oh." Sam noticed that Ryder still didn't look good. "Have you been in your room all day? Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just...long night last night, you know?"

"Yeah, but...I thought you slept late."

"Tried to," Ryder said. "But no, I'm fine. So what's the plan?"

"Are you sure? Jake's sick, something that came on pretty suddenly apparently. Do you think you might have the same thing?"

"No, I don't...What's wrong with Jake?" It was weird because Jake was practically never sick. Or even if he did have a cold or something, he just kept working; he certainly never complained about it to Prince Samuel.

"I don't know. I got a message from Sue; she asked if she should assign someone else temporarily. I said no and asked what was going on, but she said it wasn't anything serious. I'm sure you and I will be okay for a couple days...as long as you're not sick too."

"No, I'm totally fine," Ryder assured him. That is, he tried to sound as assuring as possible. Sue's message sounded much more ominous to him than it apparently did to Prince Samuel. But Ryder didn't want to alarm the prince when he wasn't even sure what, if anything, was going on.

. 

Shelby was beside herself. Blaine had been a pain in her ass before, but he'd never been as openly rude and disrespectful as this morning before he left for work. She surmised that he'd taken advantage of the lack of supervision last night to go out for some sort of tawdry sexual encounter. That was bad enough. The fact that the encounter had obviously gone wrong at least partially explained his completely inappropriate outburst at her and Jesse this morning. It was still completely inexcusable, though, as was the fact that Blaine hadn't even attempted to apologize after he got home from work.

But that was Blaine. She didn't expect much from him, really.

Even more worrisome was the fact that _Jesse_ had not actually left the car for Rachel but had caused a disturbance at the ball, been taken away by some guards, and ended up leaving Rachel stranded at the palace with no way to get home. And then he'd _lied_ about the whole incident, as if Shelby wouldn't learn the truth.

Poor Rachel had called her in tears from downtown, where she'd had to walk from the palace in her gown and high heels and then borrow a phone from a passerby. Shelby wasn't entirely clear on what had happened to Rachel's own phone—Rachel was crying too hard during that part of the story—but she was crystal clear on Jesse's unforgivable betrayal. 

As Blaine was setting the soup bowls on the table, Shelby told him, "Take Rachel's up to her room for her." Glaring meaningfully at Jesse, she added, "She's in no condition to come downstairs yet."

And then Blaine, far from being contrite for his role in how disastrous this whole day had been, said, "No."

"I beg your pardon, young man?"

"I said no. I worked all day, unlike anyone else in this house, and I made this dinner, and if Rachel can't be bothered to walk down the stairs to eat it, it's her loss."

"You ungrateful little..." But Blaine wasn't even listening to her. He sat down and started eating his soup as if Shelby hadn't said a word. "Jesse, you take it up to her. It's _your_ fault she's in the state she is."

"Actually," Jesse said, "for once I think Blaine is right. So she had to walk like a mile. Big deal. She's been recovering from the 'ordeal' all day."

"Now you listen to me, Jesse. Your sister is going to be a princess, and if I were you I'd be _groveling_ to her for forgiveness."

Jesse hesitated for just a moment, then took Rachel's soup bowl and spoon and headed toward the stairs.

"And as for you, Blaine," Shelby continued. "Considering that Rachel isn't even your real sister and she has no obligation to you whatsoever, and considering your behavior recently, I don't think even groveling will help _you_. With your attitude, I don't see Rachel ever even inviting you to _visit_ the palace...What the hell are you smiling at?"

.

Elliott met them outside the back entrance to Starchild. "Welcome, Your Highness! It's an honor to have you, as always."

"Thanks, Elliott. Did you make it to the ball last night? I didn't see you, but..."

"But you had your eyes on someone else. Yes, I was there!"

"I was going to say 'but you were probably wearing a mask,' but now that you mention it..."

Elliott was dying to know who Prince Samuel had been dancing with all night. It was all anyone had talked about all day, even people who hadn't been to the ball. And straight people. And straight people who hadn't been to the ball. He couldn't just ask, but he did permit himself to inquire, "Should I make arrangements for someone to join you later?"

"How did you...? Oh. No. There is a favor I'd like to ask you, though. Can we go upstairs to talk?"

"Of course!" Elliott pretty much never said no when the prince suggested they go upstairs—he kept a little one-room apartment up there, mostly to sleep in when he was too tired to drive home at the end of a long night, but he did sometimes use it (or rent it to bar patrons) for other purposes. He led the prince and his guard inside and up the back staircase and checked to make sure it was empty before letting the prince precede him inside, while the guard waited in the hallway.

Sam looked around at the minimal but tasteful furnishings. "Something's different," he noted.

"I got a new headboard for the bed," Elliott said.

"Oh, right!" Sam had fucked Elliott pretty vigorously last time. "Again, I apologize for that. I hope you billed the palace."

"That's very generous, Your Highness, but not necessary. I needed a new headboard anyway, and I had as much fun as you."

"I doubt that," Sam said, patting Elliott's cheek. "Dude, you're all stubbly."

"Some guys think it makes me look ruggedly handsome," Elliott said.

"They're right, it looks totally hot on you." Sam sat on one side of the loveseat and motioned for Elliott to sit on the other. "Elliott, I've always appreciated your discretion in the past."

Elliott was pretty sure he _hadn't_ been especially discreet. He had never shared _details_...well, not with any but his closest friends... and he'd never tried to go the _press_ or anything, not that they would report on the prince's escapades if he had, or that they didn't already know, but _discreet_? He wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to the prince's comment, and the best he could come up with was, "Thank you, Your Highness."

"But now I'd like to ask you to be a little...indiscreet." Elliott raised an eyebrow questioningly, and the prince added, "Just a little."

"How so?"

Sam stood up, followed by Elliott who of course couldn't sit while the prince stood. He hadn't really figured out how to explain his plan to Elliott, exactly. He walked over to the window, trying to think of the right words, and ended up blurting out, "I want you to let people know that I want to get fucked."

"Oh!" It was literally the last thing he ever would have expected Prince Samuel to say. "You mean...you don't just mean 'get laid,' you mean..."

"I mean I want to take it in the ass. You know, get fucked. By everyone. I mean, men only, obviously. And, you know, preferably gay ones, though straight ones probably wouldn't be lining up for the opportunity anyway. And only once per customer! I mean, not _customer_ , I'm not going to _charge_ obviously. Once per guy."

"Sure. Of course. Just...forgive me, Your Highness, if this is out of line, but...can I ask why?" Prince Samuel just stared at him. But it looked more like he was stunned by the question than infuriated by it, and so Elliott went on. "Just...and again, I apologize for being overly familiar, but...we've known each other for a long time, and I thought you only topped."

"Well...I got to thinking that I might be missing out."

"Okay. Sure, I can understand that. And trust me, a lot of guys will be thrilled to show you what you've been missing out on. It's just..."

"Yes?"

"Well, again, not to be too—"

"Just say it, Elliott. Like you said, we've known each other a long time. I wouldn't have come to you with this if I didn't feel like we could be honest with each other."

"That man you were with last night. I kind of thought...I mean, you looked like you were...I'm just surprised you're looking for random hookups and not spending your time with him."

"Yeah." Sam leaned against the window sill and let his head hang down. "I'd much rather be with him. The truth is, I don't know where he is. Don't tell anybody that."

"Of course, Your Highness." Elliott could definitely be discreet when the prince specifically asked him to. He wanted to clarify, though, "Don't tell anyone that you'd rather be with him? Or that you don't know where he is?"

"Neither! I mean, I guess it's okay if you say that..." Sam really wished he'd thought through what he wanted to say in advance. "You can say that I want to be with him." Sam wasn't sure this was entirely a good idea, but it would be much, much worse if the opposite and completely wrong rumor got started and reached Darren.

"People will wonder then—and I only mention it because you asked me to be honest—people will wonder...why you're doing this if you want to be with him."

Sam, not used to having his motivations questioned, said, "That's my concern."

"Yes, of course. I apologize if I crossed a line."

Sam considered it, though. It was probably true that people would wonder. "No, it's all right," he said. "You don't think they'll think it's because I don't want to be with him, do you?"

Elliott thought some people might very well come to that conclusion. But he didn't think he could just say so to the prince, and anyway it wasn't what _he_ thought. He thought maybe Prince Samuel was depressed about not knowing where the guy was. Or maybe he thought he'd find him eventually but wanted to end his single days with a bang, or something. He answered, "Anyone who saw the two of you together would know how in...how into each other you were."

"Yeah? He was too? I mean it wasn't just me?"

"He definitely was too, Your Highness." This was the complete truth.

"All right then," Sam said, taking his earlier seat again and motioning for Elliott to do the same. "Let's do this."

Elliott asked hopefully, "So I get to be first?"

Sam didn't understand the question. First what? And then when he figured out Elliott meant first to fuck him, he still didn't _really_ understand. Why would he want Elliott to fuck him? Elliott couldn't possibly be Darren; one of the few things he did know about Darren was that he'd been a virgin before the ball.

But Elliott didn't know that finding Darren was the whole point, Sam realized suddenly. 

"Your Highness?"

"Uh, it's just..." As Sam was trying to think of the best way to explain why he didn't want Elliott to fuck him, he realized he kind of actually did want Elliott to fuck him. Elliott was hot. And good, as Sam knew from experience. Not that Elliott had ever topped him, of course, but if his reputation was deserved, then Sam would probably be in for a good time. "It's just...I'm not used to doing it this way."

Elliott chuckled. "I'm aware. If I thought you bottomed for everyone _but_ me it might hurt my feelings." He placed his hand on Prince Samuel's knee and then immediately removed it. It had never been awkward between them before, but then the prince had always made the first moves. He was the _prince_ , after all. Elliott was about to ask permission to touch him, when he was relieved of the necessity of doing so by the prince climbing on top of him and unbuttoning his shirt. Prince Samuel was the one who got them undressed and moved them to the bed, and it was just like it usually was.

And how it usually was was incredible. Elliott generally preferred to top, but he would have made an exception for Prince Samuel even if he had been just regular Samuel (probably). But still. He had really, really wanted to fuck the prince for a very long time. So it was disappointing that things were proceeding so much in their usual way that it seemed he wasn't going to get to after all...until Prince Samuel very suddenly detached his lips from Elliott's balls and asked, "Do you want to rim me first?"

Yes, absolutely Elliott wanted to rim him first! So much so that he actually forgot for a second that he was messing around with royalty and he just grabbed Prince Samuel and flipped him onto his stomach. He was more than a little chagrined when he realized what he'd just done, but Prince Samuel wasn't complaining, he was spreading his legs to give him easier access. Elliott took this to mean everything was okay, so he didn't even take the time to apologize for his slip-up, he just settled in between the prince's legs and licked firmly from his balls toward his hole.

Sam gasped as soon as Elliott started. He'd never felt anything like this before: he'd only been rimmed by Kurt, and Kurt never had any hint of facial hair. Elliott's stubble was rough and scratchy on his ass, and while it was a shock initially, Sam found he liked it more than not. Especially the closer in Elliott's face got, when it was way in between his ass cheeks, right up against his most sensitive area. He liked it almost as much as he liked Elliott's tongue circling his rim, then plunging inside, stretching him more and more insistently.

Elliott would have gladly kept going for hours. He was an ass man, an ass man who'd been dying to get up close to the prince's ass like this forever. And the prince's ass did not disappoint in the least, so firm and tight, so responsive. His Highness was moaning so loud and rutting against the mattress so hard that Elliott sort of hoped he was going to make him come just with his mouth...as long as he would still get to fuck him, that is. But before it got to that point, the prince told him, "Stop! Elliott, hold on a minute."

Immediately Elliott stopped and backed up far enough that he was no longer touching Prince Samuel. "I apologize, Your Highness! What did I—"

"No, it was great, it was just too much. Is my ass all red?"

Elliott looked. "It is, actually...Oh, God, Your Highness, I should have shaved first, I didn't even think! I'm so, so sorry! I—"

"Babe, calm down. I was totally into it until I told you to stop."

Elliott rubbed the prince's back and the top part of his ass, the part that wasn't red. He wasn't going to ask if he could still fuck him, he wasn't. Asking that would be way out of line and he shouldn't even be _thinking_ about it. He should be thinking about how to fix the problem he'd caused. "I know something that might help soothe that," he said hesitantly after a minute. "And I'm not suggesting it because I still want to fuck you..."

Sam looked back in shock. "Why don't you want to fuck me anymore?"

"It's not that I don't _want_ to! But...you're in pain."

" _Pain_ is way too strong a word. I needed a break. I'd still like you to fuck me."

 _Thank God!_ "Well, if that's what you want, then what I thought of could be a two-birds kind of thing."

"Coconut oil?" Sam guessed.

"Coconut oil," Elliott confirmed. "And, as you know, I just happen to keep some here."

Elliott applied the oil very, very gently, as if he thought Sam were a delicate virgin all of a sudden. Sam couldn't find it insulting, though, or even amusing, because it actually felt really good. When Elliott blew on his skin where it had been irritated, Sam may have even sighed.

"Should I proceed, Your Highness? Or would you rather...?"

"Yeah, God, Elliott. Proceed."

Sam kind of wished he'd let Elliott do this before; he really knew what he was doing with his fingers back there. He was taking a long time, being very thorough, and Sam was vaguely aware that it was probably because Elliott thought this was literally his first time taking a dick up his ass. But he didn't clear up the apparent misapprehension, because he thought Elliott might like the idea that he was the first guy to fuck him, but also because (okay, mainly because) he was just really enjoying the time he was taking.

Until he needed more. When he needed more he lifted up onto his knees and asked, "Are you ready, man?"

"Am _I_ ready, Your Highness?" Elliott wasn't trying to be sarcastic; he was just genuinely confused by the question. "I'm more than ready whenever you are."

"Do me."

Elliott swallowed around a big lump in his throat. Lots of men had been done by the prince, but Elliott was going to be the first to do him. It was such an honor and such a...such a huge responsibility, really.

He popped the tip of his dick in, just past the rim, and it felt hugely momentous, like line-in-the-history-books momentous. He vowed not to let the weird feeling of power he was experiencing make him do anything crazy, especially anything that could hurt Prince Samuel. Even aside from being royalty, Prince Samuel happened to be one of Elliott's favorite people. 

Sam was a little surprised by how much he liked Elliott's cock in his ass. Like with Kurt it was because he was literally magical. And with Darren it was because he was in love with him. It wasn't the same with Elliott, but it was still really, really good.

Except that Elliott was going so slowly. He could understand why Darren had been hesitant and unsure at first, but he couldn't understand why Elliott was being the same way now...unless it was fear of hurting Sam, which...oh yeah, it probably was. "C'mon, man," Sam urged, "you're not gonna break me."

"I know, Your Highness," Elliott huffed (because holding back was way more taxing right now than just going for it), "but..."

"I can take it," Sam assured him. Elliott picked up the pace a bit, but not nearly as much as Sam wanted. "Don't make me give you a direct order, Elliott."

Elliott didn't want to ruin the prince's first time by being too rough, but he didn't want to leave him unsatisfied by being too gentle either. And he certainly didn't want to disobey an order, even if it was only implied. So it was pretty great that the implied order coincided exactly with what he really wanted to do anyway!

"Fuck yeah," Sam said when Elliott finally really slammed into him. Elliott's cock was pounding his prostate over and over. Plus Sam's skin was still sensitive from the stubbly rim job, which just added to the intensity. "Yeah, _God_!"

This was so much like Elliott's favorite fantasy that he almost doubted it was actually happening: the prince on his hands and knees in front of him, screaming from the pleasure of taking his cock. The only thing needed to make this perfect was for the prince to come before he did. Forgetting to even ask permission first, Elliott reached around to jerk His Highness off. 

Sam groaned as he felt Elliott's hand on his dick. And as soon as that hand formed a fist he started fucking into it. He had been close to coming anyway, so the added stimulation brought him there in no time at all, and he was shooting his load all over himself and his friend's hand. 

Elliott had been just barely holding off. As soon as he felt the prince's walls clamping down on his dick, before he even felt the first spurt of the prince's come, he was unloading helplessly deep inside the prince's no-longer-virginal ass. 

Sam wasn't usually much of a postcoital cuddler, but he didn't feel like moving right away afterward, and neither did Elliott, judging from the way he was letting his limbs lie heavily on top of Sam. It was overly familiar, but after letting Elliott inside him, Sam couldn't be bothered to mind. 

"I hope that met Your Highness's expectations," Elliott said when he'd regained the power of speech. 

"More than," Sam assured him.


	6. Almost a Virgin

Elliott made the bed up with fresh sheets while Prince Samuel was in the shower. As soon as the bathroom door opened he called the bartender: "I'm on my way down with His Highness. He'll have a...Your Highness?"

"Just coffee, thanks. And have him send it up."

Elliott relayed the order and hung up. "You're not going downstairs?"

"No, why would you think that? Oh, do you need the apartment for something else?"

"No, please, of course you're welcome for as long as you like! I just thought you were getting cleaned up to go back out in public." Elliott hadn't even stopped to think that he might just not like the lingering feel of come and/or oil in his ass.

"Oh, no. Just freshening up for whoever you send up to me."

Elliott had to stifle a cough. "You'd like me to send someone else up?"

"Well, yeah. I'd like to get started with my plan right away." 

" _Started_? You mean that..." Elliott said, gesturing to the bed where they'd just fucked, "that wasn't the start of the plan?"

"Well...it and it wasn't. Technically it wasn't. Because technically the plan—and I forgot to mention this part before—but technically the plan involves guys I haven't already had sex with. Preferably virgins, in fact, or...not quite virgins, but almost."

"Yes, Your Highness, I see," Elliott said.

"I don't think you do," Prince Samuel said, and he was completely right: Elliott didn't see at all. But then, whether he understood or not was beside the point. The prince went on, "See, you were just like...for fun. I mean, not part of the _plan_ per se, but just because I wanted to. Because I knew you'd be awesome—which you were—and it seemed like a good idea to start with someone I knew I could trust. Even though you weren't technically the start, more like a bonus."

Elliott understood even less than before this supposed explanation; however, he did understand enough to recognize the compliment in there and replied, "Thank you, Your Highness." There was a knock at the door, and he went to get the prince's coffee. Handing it to him, he asked, "So...you're okay to go again already? I only ask out of concern."

"Yeah, that's nice of you. You took good care of me, so I'll be fine. And like I said. I'm really eager to get started with the plan."

Great. So Elliott was supposed to find someone Prince Samuel hadn't already slept with, preferably someone who was "almost" a virgin. 

He went back downstairs and surveyed the crowd. It was a Sunday night, so not very crowded, and the guys who were there were mostly regulars. Elliott was certain the prince had already slept with at least two-thirds of them. There was, however, one promising table with four young guys (and one young girl) who had never been in before. If Prince Samuel had hooked up with any of them, it hadn't been here. Elliott had no idea if any of them were "almost" virgins, but they looked young enough and uncomfortable enough that it was definitely possible. In fact, they looked uncomfortable enough that they might not be gay—sometimes straight kids came in to be "edgy" (or on accident)—but that at least was something he could find out.

He approached the table and stood by the one with the gayest hair. "Welcome to Starchild! My name's Elliott; I'm the owner. How are you guys doing tonight?"

"Great!" the girl shouted, much louder than necessary. She was definitely a bit buzzed. "It's Alistair's eighteenth birthday! And so we wanted to take him out drinking since he can do it legally! Not that he ever, ever drank before tonight," she added with an exaggerated wink.

"Wow, that calls for a round of drinks on the house!" Elliott signaled to a waiter. "Which one is Alistair?"

They all pointed to the kid with long, reddish hair, who raised his hand shyly.

"Happy birthday!" Elliott said, giving the kid his most dazzling smile. "Thank you for choosing Starchild to celebrate the big occasion!"

"Well, Alistair's gay," the girl said, "so..."

"Geez, Madison," Alistair said. "You don't have to just announce it like that."

"Why not? It's a gay club! And Elliott is flirting with you!"

"No, he's not!"

"I am, but I'm harmless. Next I'm gonna flirt with your friend here." He smiled at gay-hair.

"Mason is actually straight," Madison informed him icily.

"Good thing I'm so harmless!" Elliott walked around to Alistair's chair and held his hand out. "Come on, dance with me."

It took some cajoling, but Elliott finally got him out onto the dance floor. "Are you and buzz-cut guy together?" he asked. Buzz-cut guy seemed to seriously not want Alistair to dance with him.

"Spencer? Um...no. Not really."

"Okay. Good."

"Are you...look, I've never been some place like this before, and so I don't know..."

"I'm propositioning you," Elliott said cheerfully. "But not for myself."

Alistair stopped dancing. "I'm not interested in hiring a prostitute."

"No, no, no! Nothing like that. This is a reputable establishment; I'm not a pimp." Though he kind of felt like one at the moment. After tonight Prince Samuel was going to have to go back to picking up his own men. "It's Prince Samuel."

"Prince Samuel? I _heard_ he's gay! So it's really true? I heard he comes here sometimes! I was hoping to see him, even though it seemed so unlikely."

"He's here! He's upstairs and he wants..." Elliott dragged a hand through his hair. "He's always topped before. And he wants to change that. You know what I'm saying?"

"He wants...someone to top him?"

"Exactly. Lots of someones, eventually. You can be first, if you want." This was close enough to the truth, Elliott thought.

"Really? Why me?"

"Why not? It's your birthday, right? Are you interested?"

Alistair hesitated. "Not that I don't trust you, but...I'm not going to follow you to some secluded part of this building just because you _claim_ that a prince, who hasn't even seen me, wants me to...you know."

"Hmm." Elliott was a little insulted, not so much that this kid thought _he_ might try something, but that he thought Starchild might be the kind of place where that kind of thing happened. Still, he supposed it was smart of the kid to be cautious, given the unlikely-sounding offer. "Well, there's safety in numbers, right? So ask Spencer to come meet him too. And your other friend, is he gay? Not the one with the girlfriend, obviously."

"Madison isn't Mason's girlfriend, she's his sister. But you mean Roderick. He's straight too."

"Just Spencer then. The prince might want to see him alone later."

While Alistair was off dancing, Mason and Madison got into one of their weird twin conversations that no one else could follow, so Roderick was left with no one but Spencer to talk to. Spencer knocked back his free rum and Coke, burped loudly, and asked, "So how's your regular Coke?"

"Fine," Roderick answered. It was a Coke, what was there to say about it?

"Sure was big of you to be the designated driver. Nice, I mean. You should still try to have a good time, though. I mean, if I'd known you were just gonna sit there like a bump on a log I would've volunteered to drive."

"I'm fine."

"No, but I mean fucking live a little. I mean, so you haven't had anything to drink to give you liquid courage. So what? Go ask someone to dance!"

"Um, I'm not gay." Also he didn't dance, but Spencer already knew that. It was the whole reason he was taunting him in the first place.

"I mean, I'd dance with you, but...you know."

Madison looked up. "Did someone say _dance_? Yes, we should totally dance!" She got up and dragged Mason to the dance floor, and Spencer followed without giving Roderick a second glance. It was a relief to have him gone, but now he looked like an idiot sitting at a big table by himself.

Spencer was hovering on the edge of the dance floor, looking for someone unattached who he could dance with. Or maybe he could cut in and dance with Alistair. _He_ was Alistair's friend, not this bar guy who was way too old for Alistair anyway, not to mention only being nice to entice them all to spend more money. Then again, Spencer didn't want to look needy or anything by trying to cut in. Maybe he'd just go to the bar for another drink; he could probably make it look like that's where he was headed all along.

He was still trying to get the bartender's attention when Alistair came up behind him and grabbed his shoulder, and that was so much better than _him_ going to _Alistair_ ; he was so glad he'd decided to play it cool. But Alistair was clearly drunk—clearly really, really drunk, or maybe Elliott had slipped something stronger than alcohol—because he seemed to be convinced that Prince Samuel was just dying for the two of them to fuck him.

"Babe, I've heard the rumors about Prince Samuel too. If they're true, though, you also know that he only tops."

"No, but—"

"I can be your prince if you want. I'll even be a prince who lets you top, if that's what you want."

Alistair took a step back. "I thought you said you were a top."

Spencer had said that, yeah. And it was true, he'd only ever topped. All two times he'd done anal. The truth was he had no idea idea if he would like bottoming or not. But he wanted more with Alistair than their one attempt, weeks ago, at oral, and if that meant bottoming, then he was more than willing to give it a shot. But he couldn't say all this. Alistair was under the impression that he was a lot more experienced than he was, for one thing, and probably would lose all interest if he learned the truth. So he just winked and said, "Yeah, but you're the birthday boy."

Alistair was about to respond when Elliott showed up, draped an arm around him, and asked, "So is your friend in or not? His Highness doesn't like to be kept waiting, so if you two aren't interested..."

"We are!" Alistair said. "We are, right, Spencer?"

"Uh. Yeah."

They got ushered up some back staircase, and there was a little hallway with a big, broad-shouldered dude just standing there. The dude looked them up and down and looked like he was about to say something when this door opened and there he was—it was actually Prince Samuel! He smiled at them, and Spencer and Alistair both bowed awkwardly when Elliott presented them. The prince shook both their hands and said, "It's one at a time, I'm afraid."

"Of course, Your Highness," Elliott said. "They just wanted to meet you together. Alistair is the one who, well, it's his birthday."

"Oh, happy birthday!" Prince Samuel said, laying his hand on Alistair's shoulder.

"Thank you, Your Highness." Alistair was beaming. 

"Come on in. Spencer, maybe later?"

.

Once they were back downstairs, Spencer headed straight for the bar, while Elliott spotted this guy named Dustin Goolsby sitting alone at a table near the stage and decided to join him for a minute.

"Have you got good news for me?" Dustin asked before Elliott was even in his chair. 

"You know I never know when she's going to show up."

Dustin sighed. "Yeah, I know. My boss is just on me so hard..." He trailed off because Elliott knew all this already. Ever since Unique had hit it so big, record companies were dying to sign someone just like her. The problem was that some of the less intellectually gifted executives, Dustin's boss included, thought this meant drag queens. Unique explained in basically every interview she ever gave that while drag queens were great, what she was was different. Dustin pointed this out too, but to no avail. So...here he was looking for a drag queen to sign. There was a great one—probably the only commercially viable drag queen in the kingdom— who was known to sometimes (but unpredictably) show up and give impromptu performances at Starchild. She'd turned Dustin down flat several times already, but he was prepared to make a _very_ generous offer next time. If there was a next time.

"How's the elusive David?" Elliott asked. He wasn't sure Dustin's supposed boyfriend actually existed. "Are you ever going to bring him here?"

"Nah, he hates bars. No offense. But he's good. We're 'pre-engaged' now." He told Elliott about the mutual pre-proposal at the ball last night.

"Hey, congratulations!" Elliott said, clasping his shoulder. "If your pre-fiancé didn't hate bars I'd suggest you have the ceremony here."

"Yeah, well, even if he didn't hate them all the time, he's pretty traditional, so..."

"Yeah, that's a shame. If he were a little more liberal I'd have the perfect pre-wedding gift for you guys."

Dustin listened, flabbergasted, as Elliott described the prince's plan. "I'm in!" he said. "David won't be interested—he's the prince's tailor and he would be worried it would hurt their professional relationship—but I'm definitely in."

"Really?" He hadn't expected Dustin to actually be interested. He never flirted with anyone at Starchild, so Elliott thought either he really was in an exclusive relationship or he claimed to be so he could avoid having to explain why he was celibate. "David won't mind?"

"We actually talked about this specifically. It was mostly hypothetical at the time, of course, but still, we specifically talked about how if the opportunity to sleep with Prince Samuel arose, it would be okay to take it. For me, that is. I'd let him too, if he wanted, but, you know, the professional relationship...I mean, he actually turned the prince down, a few years ago."

"No shit? Wow." Elliott hardly ever heard of anyone turning the prince down. "Well, nice that he's cool about it for you, though." Dustin had to be at least in his mid-thirties, and it was unlikely he was almost a virgin. Unless...well...maybe he and David had been exclusive for a really long time. That might count, right? Maybe what counted wasn't the number of times he'd done it but the number of partners he'd had. Or maybe there was no David and he _was_ celibate but willing to make an exception. Who wouldn't, for Prince Samuel? Anyway, screening guys for almost-virginity wasn't really something Elliott was on board with, and Prince Samuel could always turn down anyone he chose. "Great. So I'll introduce you after the guy who's next in line."

.

Before Prince Samuel could just let Alistair into the apartment, Ryder reminded him that he needed to pat him down and check his ID. "Right!" the prince said. "Yeah! Can you imagine if we found him and _still_ didn't know who he really was?"

"That would be tragic, Your Highness." To Alistair he said, "Hold your arms out, please, and spread your legs." The kid didn't have anything on him but some keys, a wallet, and a cellphone. His ID checked out, and it really was his birthday. He didn't look much like Darren, but then Kurt could have changed anything—maybe everything—about his looks. Ryder cleared him to go in, pocketing the cellphone first and informing him that he could have it back when he left.

Prince Samuel led Alistair into the middle of the room and then just stood there, staring into his eyes. "You're taller," he said finally.

"Taller, Your Highness?" 

"Not that it means anything that you're taller _now_. You probably can't give me any clues, can you?"

Alistair had no idea what the prince was asking him, much less how to respond. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I—"

"Yeah, no. It's fine." Sam didn't get that "Darren" feeling from this guy. But then, Darren _wouldn't_ be allowed to give him any clues, right? So what did Sam expect? Kurt had told him the only way to know was how the guy's dick felt in his ass. "We should just start, right?" 

"Yes, of course." The only problem was that Alistair had never done this before. Blowjobs and stuff, but nothing penetrative. "I should probably warn you that I've—"

"No clues!" Sam insisted. He didn't know what Kurt would do to Darren if he heard him breaking the rules. If this was Darren. He kind of knew it was improbable that he'd find Darren on the first try, but...well, he had to find him sooner or later, right? And the first guy was as likely as any other guy to be him.

Again, Alistair didn't understand what the prince meant by _clues_. But it was clear that he was adamant about not wanting Alistair to tell him any, so it seemed like the best way to avoid this was to just stop talking altogether. He shut his mouth and nodded.

Sam stepped closer and kissed him. His kiss was nice, but it didn't feel like Darren's kiss; his mouth didn't taste like Darren's mouth. But Darren's _mouth_ wasn't the gold standard. He unbuttoned Alistair's shirt and pants and led him to the bed. "Take them off," he said.

Alistair shucked off his shirt easily enough, but by the time he got to his pants, the intense way the prince was staring at his crotch had him feeling kind of weird.

The kid was hesitating; he must be shy. _He was shy!_ This was so great: _Darren_ had been shy! Well, at first. Maybe he wouldn't be now, since they'd already...Fuck, Sam had to stop overthinking and just get this guy's dick inside him. He sat on the edge of the bed and pushed Alistair's pants down himself, followed immediately by his underwear.

Alistair's dick was...it didn't look like Darren's. The pubes, obviously, were a different color, but it wasn't just that. His cock itself was a little pinker, not quite as thick. But none of that meant anything. Kurt said he had changed the appearance. No, wait, he said he _may_ have changed the appearance. Which meant Sam didn't technically know but should assume he had. 

.

Ryder was really worried about Jake. He'd called him as soon as Prince Samuel and Mr. Gilbert had gone into the apartment, and Sue had answered. She wouldn't tell him anything other than that she was forwarding Jake's calls to herself because he was "sick," and Ryder knew something was up. The worst part was that there was nothing he could do about it, at least until he could get his hands on a different phone—Sue saw all the calls the guards made on their palace-issued ones.

As soon as this Alistair kid was inside with the prince, Ryder used his phone to call Jake's brother. "You're not calling from your own phone, are you?" was the first thing Jake asked when he picked up.

"How stupid do you think I am?" Quietly he asked, "Is it bad?"

"I didn't drop by Noah's just to shoot the shit."

"What happened?"

"Sue fired me for letting Darren into the ball without an ID."

"Wait, so this is Darren's fault!?"

"No, not Darren's. If anything it's Kurt's. And of course my own for not—"

"Fucking Darren!"

"Hey! Don't let His Highness hear you say that. He's in love with the guy."

" _In love_ ," Ryder spat. "Only because he has no idea what this guy's deal is."

"Ryder? Be careful, man."

.

Sam pulled Alistair closer, put his face right up in his crotch, and gave his cock an experimental lick. 

He didn't think...no, he was sure this guy didn't smell or taste like Darren. Not that he would have been able to articulate what it was, exactly, that Darren had smelled and tasted like. Just...not the same as Alistair. About a million times better, for one thing.

Obviously, this was disappointing.

But he wasn't sure he should give up hope yet. Kurt had said he would know by getting the guy's cock in his ass. That was the _only_ way he could be sure. True, Kurt had just said he might have changed what it _looked_ like, but...Or, wait. He had actually said that he might have disguised it _cosmetically_. And _cosmetics_...like, was perfume a cosmetic? Sam wasn't sure. But he was pretty sure that some of the stuff Quinn used, even the stuff that wasn't specifically perfume, had a scent. So Kurt _could_ have made it smell different. And the smell, of course, would affect the taste too.

Alistair hadn't expected to get a blowjob from the prince. So it wasn't like he would complain about how Prince Samuel was blowing him. It was just...it wasn't like he'd received tons of top-notch blowjobs in his life, so maybe he was way off on this, but it felt pretty weird. Kind of like being prodded. This wasn't to say it didn't feel _good_ , because it did, and it got him hard quickly. But it was still weird.

Once Alistair was hard, Sam pulled him onto the bed and maneuvered him onto his back. He stood and quickly removed his own clothes. He had already slicked himself up again after his shower, but he grabbed the coconut oil and coated Alistair's dick with some, even though it wasn't strictly necessary.

Okay, wow. Prince Samuel was rubbing something onto Alistair's cock. Lube, he guessed, although he wouldn't have expected it to feel oily or smell fruity. Maybe it was, like, something edible. Maybe the blowjob was about to get even weirder. But, no, the prince was straddling him now. It looked like he was just going to lower himself onto...Wasn't there supposed to be some stretching or fingering or something first? Alistair was almost sure he had read about that. And the lube, wasn't it supposed to go on the receptive partner? What the hell was happening?

But oh, _oh_! Apparently nothing else was actually necessary, because the prince was just lowering himself, just sinking down on Alistair's cock, and it felt plenty slippery, and tight but not _too_ tight, and so warm and just...just, God.

.

Spencer couldn't believe he was maybe going to get to fuck Prince Samuel tonight. He kind of _didn't_ believe it, actually. But, weirdly, he didn't have that much trouble believing that Alistair was going to get to. Was, perhaps, fucking the prince right now. 

And he knew it was something that shouldn't bother him because...well, they weren't even a couple, him and Alistair. And even if they were a couple, what kind of asshole would object to his boyfriend taking the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fuck the world's hottest prince? Especially when he was (maybe) going to get to do the same thing later? So he wasn't bothered. He was just...antsy, for unknown reasons. It was the anticipation, probably. He went to get a drink or two while he waited for Alistair to return.

Roderick, meanwhile, was seriously thinking about leaving. Spencer was drinking at the bar rather than at the table with him, which...he didn't like Spencer either, so it wasn't like he was pining for his company, but it was still kind of a dickish thing to do. Madison had roped some gay guy into dancing with her, and some other gay guy had roped Mason into dancing with him. The birthday boy, the one friend they all had in common and the reason they were all here, was nowhere to be seen. Roderick thought he really should just go, just walk out without saying a word to any of them; in fact, he actually might.

Okay, he wouldn't actually. He didn't like conflict, and if he walked out on them tonight, leaving everybody without rides home, they'd probably yell at him tomorrow at school. Nonetheless, it was somewhat satisfying to _imagine_ leaving them all there...until he wondered how long it would take them to notice and realized it might be a long time, like hours even.

So he was about to leave after all—not for good, but just to get a book out of his car—when he saw the absolute last person he expected to see tonight walk in the front door. He barely recognized her. He hadn't seen her in a few years, and never so...Usually she was just dressed normally, like jeans and a sweater or something, but now she was wearing this, like, sparkly dress and tons of jewelry and makeup and stuff. He would have assumed it was just someone with an uncanny resemblance, except someone at the table next to his squealed and exclaimed, " _It's Mercedes_!"

She walked right past his table, and he gave her a little nod. She did a double-take and stopped dead in her tracks, but just for a split second before gliding into the chair next to his. "Boo, I've been meaning to touch base with you. How you doing, baby?"

"Well," Roderick said, "you know." 

"Yeah, I know." She took his hand and patted it. "I'm gonna help you out. I need you to do something, though. Don't tell anyone who I really am."

"No, of course not!" Roderick said. No one was going to believe he had a fairy godmother anyway.

"I mean don't say _anything_ about what you know about me. Some folks here—I never _told_ them I am what they think I am, but it amuses me to let them think it. You got me?" 

"Um. No."

"Don't worry, babe. Just don't correct anyone." And she kissed him on the cheek and strutted toward the stage at the front of the room.

.

Sam lowered himself slowly, haltingly, until Alistair's cock was fully inside him. Bottoming for a stranger wasn't _that_ weird, he guessed, maybe because he was physically on top. The dick in his ass felt good, even. But it didn't feel like...

Maybe he had to move before he could be sure...

Alistair gasped as the prince rolled his hips, rocking himself back and forth on his dick. It was so good, so perfect. Until Prince Samuel stopped moving, looked down at him sadly, and said, "You're not Darren."

"No, Your Highness. My name's Alistair."

"Right." Sam knew he shouldn't be so disappointed. He'd known that finding Darren right away was a long shot. All he could do was keep trying. He was about to get off the kid, thank him for his time and send him on his way, when he noticed the desperate look on his face. It _would_ be kind of a dick move to just leave him like this. He rolled his hips again and asked, "You good like this? Or you want to get on top?"

"This is good, Your Highness. So, so good." It was too, it was the best thing ever. For a second there Alistair had been worried that...but never mind, it was back to being so, so good. He kind of didn't believe what everyone said about the prince usually topping, because the way he was moving was so exactly right, you'd think it would take a lot of practice. Alistair didn't even have to do anything, he just had to lie there while Prince Samuel's hot, snug channel expertly gripped and tugged at his cock. Way, way too soon he knew it was about to end, and he just barely had the presence of mind to warn the prince, "Your Highness, I think I'm—"

"Yeah, come in my ass," the prince told him, and if there'd been any chance before of him not doing exactly that right then...well, now there wasn't. 

He gripped Prince Samuel's hips tightly and thrust up into him instinctively. "Oh God oh God oh God," he whispered as he felt his balls tighten and release.

"Yeah, there you go," Sam said as he felt the boy shudder and tremble under him. It had _just_ started getting really good for him, but that was okay, this wasn't about him getting off. He rubbed Alistair's chest while he caught his breath. "There you go. Thanks."

Alistair laughed. He didn't mean to, but... "I'm pretty sure I should be thanking you, Your Highness."

"It was my pleasure."

"But it wasn't! I mean, I can't help but notice, Your Highness, that you're still hard. Would you like to...switch places? Or...or I could suck you?"

"Thank you, but it's all right."

"I mean, I'd really, really like to! If you'd let me."

Well...why not? Sam was already hard and naked, and he didn't doubt that the kid would really, really like to do it. He climbed off, rolled onto his back, and signaled his permission. Alistair lunged, sucked the whole cock into his mouth all at once. What he lacked in skill he more than made up for in enthusiasm—something Sam gave him extra points for, considering he'd just come.

Alistair had recently discovered he really liked blowing guys—even ordinary guys who weren't royalty. And Prince Samuel, even aside from being royalty, he had this amazing dick. Alistair had always assumed it couldn't possibly look as perfect as the rest of the prince did, but he was wrong. And as good as it looked, it felt and tasted even better in his mouth: warm and thick and meaty, clean but not soapy. He really wanted to find out what His Highness's jizz tasted like. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that the sooner he got to taste it, the sooner all this would be over and he'd have to leave. But he wasn't really thinking about it rationally, he just wanted it so bad that he went after it with all he had.

Sam let Alistair suck and suck until he found himself thrusting up into his mouth. He tried not to do it too hard. If it had been Kurt or Elliott or...well, someone he didn't know to be _just_ barely eighteen, he might have changed their positions and fucked the guy's face. As it was he just clutched at the sheets—not at Alistair, in case he wanted to move away at the last minute—and warned him, "You're gonna make me come."

Alistair felt his own dick get hard again at those words, at the realization that _he_ was actually about to make _Prince Samuel_ come. As much as he suddenly needed to, he didn't touch himself, though; he kept his attention—and his hands and mouth—completely focused on the prince's dick, and he was rewarded with a spurt of hot, thick spunk hitting the roof of his mouth, followed by another, and then a third. It tasted as amazing as he'd imagined, creamy and savory, and he almost hated to swallow because he knew he'd probably never get another taste.

.

The lights suddenly went low, and the music cut out right in the middle of "Lady Marmalade." Everyone who'd been dancing stopped and looked around until a spotlight found Mercedes; it followed her as she made her way onto the stage, where she stood perfectly still while the DJ played "Also Sprach Zarathustra." The lights came up a bit, the music to "I'm Coming Out" came on, and she launched into it. The DJ started some other music right after, but she stood behind him and said something in his ear, and he switched to "I Want to Break Free" instead. She summoned Roderick up onto the stage with her and invited him to sing the lead.

Roderick hesitated. He was shy about singing in front of people for some reason, which Mercedes had very little patience for, and she ordered him, "Just sing your damn heart out!"

He did it, bless him. Apparently he worked well under pressure, which Mercedes hadn't had any reason to expect, and he killed it. Mercedes knew the boy could sing, but this was the best she'd ever heard him. It helped that he had her as backup, of course, but she couldn't take more than a tiny bit of credit. She hadn't even used any magic. Honestly she didn't like to use magic—it was seriously draining—and she avoided it whenever possible.

Spencer stood there staring, not realizing that his mouth was agape. But it was almost too much to take. That was Roderick up on stage singing with some drag queen. And, like, the dude could fucking _sing_. What the fuck? So Alistair was getting laid by royalty, Roderick turned out to be an amazing singer, and Madison and Mason—a straight dude and a chick—were getting asked to dance by way more gay guys than he was, i.e., zero. Great. Just fucking great. And Alistair had been gone a super long time, which probably meant Prince Samuel had taken a liking to him (who wouldn't?), which probably meant Spencer wasn't going to get to fuck either of them. Ever. He ordered another drink.

The standing ovation was still going on when Mercedes grabbed Roderick by the wrist and led him to the table of that record company guy who kept pestering her. He kissed her cheeks and gushed over her performance, just like he always did. He also introduced himself to Roderick and complimented his performance too—not _as_ effusively, but still with genuine enthusiasm. He invited them to join him at his table and called over a waiter for more drinks. "Roderick, maybe you can sing back-up on one of Mercedes's tracks when I finally get her to sign with me," he said. "Or even a duet."

"You know I'm not interested in signing any contracts, baby. But maybe I can sing back-up on one of Roderick's tracks when you get _him_ to sign with you," Mercedes said pointedly. 

Record company guy hesitated, studying them both carefully. "Or even a duet?" he asked.

This time it was Mercedes who hesitated a moment before answering, "Roderick and I do sound amazing together."

Record company guy tapped his fingers nervously on the table for a minute. "I can't just sign someone I've only heard once," he said, more to Mercedes than to Roderick. "But if you come to the studio tomorrow—both of you—and let me hear some more, I think we can talk." He handed Roderick a business card.

"Really?" Roderick said. "Are you serious? This is so...wait, I have school tomorrow, though."

Record company guy—Dustin Goolsby, the card said—smiled at him with just a touch of condescension and said, "That's okay. I'll wait until after your classes."

.

Spencer had pretty much resigned himself to getting smashed by himself at the bar when the club owner placed a hand on his shoulder and asked if he was still interested in fucking the prince. That's exactly how he asked, too. "Are you still interested in fucking the prince?"

"Fuck yeah!" Spencer said, slamming his glass down. It wasn't empty and it sloshed, but the glass itself did not break, which was all the evidence Spencer needed that he was not too drunk and that this was a good idea.

Elliott—that was the owner's name, Elliott!—Elliott led him up the stairs again and left him with the guy with the big shoulders. "I need to see your ID, please," the guy said.

"I showed it on my way in," Spencer objected.

"But now _I_ have to see it. Unless you don't want to see His Highness that badly."

"This is so stupid," Spencer muttered, but he dug into his pocket for the ID he'd shown at the door.

The guy took one look at it and said, "This is pretty good as fake IDs go, 'Marshall.' But if you want to see Prince Samuel I'm going to have to see your real one."

Spencer grabbed the ID back and looked at himself. It _was_ a really good fake ID! It had gotten him into Starchild, after all, and into other bars before tonight. There was no way this guy could tell; he must just be bluffing. "What are you talking about? This is totally legit."

Ryder shrugged and said, "I'm not the underage drinking police, but I am the prince's personal guard. So you can either show me your real ID or I can call the cops and have you removed from the premises."

Spencer wondered if he should just run. But he really wanted to fuck Prince Samuel, and it sounded like the guard might still let him if he showed his real ID. He reluctantly handed it over. "Spencer Porter," the guard read out loud. "Oh hey, you'll be eighteen in just eight months." He returned the real ID and took the fake one back and stuck it in his pocket. Then he patted Spencer down and took his cell phone too, though he said he could have that back after, and knocked on the door. The prince himself answered, and the guard presented him.

Prince Samuel wrapped his arm around Spencer's waist and led him into the apartment. "How are you doing tonight?"

How was he doing? It was the weirdest night, and he wasn't thinking that clearly anyway thanks to the...four? five? drinks he'd had, and he didn't know how to answer and he blurted out, "You bent over for Alistair and let him fuck you, didn't you?"

Sam let his arm drop off the kid's waist and took a step back. "Is there a problem?"

"No. I mean, I'm not used to getting sloppy seconds, but you are the prince, after all, so..."

"Yeah. I am. Why don't you get down on your knees."

Spencer should just run. Kneeling—that wasn't a normal protocol thing that you had to do for royalty. Except...if you wanted to fuck them and they told you to, then you probably did have to. And he did still want to. _Especially_ , actually, if the prince might have some of Alistair's jizz still inside his ass. Face burning, he dropped to his knees and looked down at the floor.

Sam walked slowly around the kneeling boy. He should just kick him out right now. He was hot and everything, but there was pretty much no way he could be Darren, unless Kurt had given him a complete personality overhaul for the ball. And if that was the case, if this was the real Darren in front of him now, then Sam wasn't in love with the real Darren, only the fake one from last night.

So, yeah. He would tell him to leave and move on to whoever Elliott had lined up for him next. He stood in front of the kid and said, "Look at me." And Spencer did, and there was a tear running down his cheek, and Sam had to rethink everything. _Could_ the real Darren have said something so crude and disrespectful to him, out of jealousy maybe? Out of not being able to stand the thought of Sam with someone else, and not having any way of knowing that it was only to find him again? And if it was Darren...Darren didn't _have_ to show him the same kind of deference most people did. Darren got to call him Sam, after all, and practically no one got to do that.

He noticed the kid wobble a little. "Have you been drinking, Spencer?"

"A little, Your Highness. I mean, this is a bar, right?"

Okay. Jealousy plus drinking. This could plausibly still be Darren. If it was, Sam could only hope he'd be able to understand about Alistair. "Do you still want to do this?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Then stand up and take off your clothes."

Spencer stood up and started unbuttoning his shirt, and Sam turned around, deciding not to watch him undress. What would be the point? He wouldn't be able to tell anything from looking. Well, except Spencer _was_ hot, which would make looking worthwhile even if it didn't provide him with any useful information. He quickly shed his own clothes and turned around again, in time to see Spencer stepping out of his boxers. And yeah, without making any comparisons between what he saw before him now and what Darren looked like, he'd have to say that what he saw before him now was very nice. Not quite hard yet, but that could be fixed. "Here, let me..." he said, hand outstretched.

"I can do it!" Spencer insisted, turning away from the prince and jerking himself furiously. The last thing he wanted was for Prince Samuel to think that he couldn't even get it up. Why wouldn't he be able to get it up? He wasn't, like, falling-down drunk or anything. Prince Samuel was more than hot enough. And it wasn't like the prince was going to be mentally comparing him to Alistair and finding him less satisfactory. Was he? How good _was_ Alistair? He'd been dying to know forever. He gave an amazing blowjob, that was for sure. God, that had been...oh, look! He was hard now! "Condoms?" he asked. "Lube?"

"We don't need them," Prince Samuel said. 

"Oh my God," Spencer said. So the prince's ass _was_ still slick with Alistair's come. Fuck. Prince Samuel was such a slut. He probably got off on random strangers using him; probably when he made Spencer get on his knees he was secretly wishing it were the other way around.

The prince was standing near the wall. Spencer spun him around and pushed him forward so he was leaning against it. Before he could lose his nerve, he positioned himself behind His so-called Highness and shoved his dick up his ass in one go.

Sam lurched forward. "Fuck!" He wasn't expecting the kid to just slam it in so— _fuck_ —so abruptly. He tried to concentrate on Spencer's dick. Which you'd think would be easy, since it was so far up his ass it was practically in his throat. But of course what he was trying to concentrate on was whether it felt at all the same way Darren's had. What Spencer was doing to him was so different from what Darren had done. Probably that it itself proved this wasn't Darren. But he wanted to be sure, he didn't want to run the risk of letting Darren get away again, so he tried to imagine, like, if Darren were fucking him this way, how would it feel?

Spencer was actually giving it to the prince in the ass. Like, for real. He felt like pretty much the biggest stud ever. And he _wasn't_ going to think about Alistair doing the same thing, and he certainly wasn't going to think about whether Alistair had done it better, because if he worried about that he just might lose his hard-on, and the way to avoid losing his hard-on was to fuck the slut in front of him as hard and as fast as he possibly could.

Even trying to give Spencer every possible benefit of the doubt, Sam soon knew...he knew that Darren would never fuck him like this. Rough was one thing, but this was something different. This felt aggressive, and even if Darren might be upset about Alistair, and even if he was drunk, he wouldn't fuck Sam like this. "Okay," he said, as Spencer slammed into him again. "That's enough."

"Oh, I can do more," Spencer assured him. "You want it harder?"

"No, I said—"

"Shut up and take it," Spencer snapped, and he held the prince's wrists against the wall as he fucked him with all his strength.

Ryder heard a brief scuffle and then Prince Samuel calling his name. He ran into the room to find the naked prince holding the equally naked Spencer face-first against the wall, wrists crossed behind his back. He stepped in to hold the guy and asked, "What happened?"

"I thought he wanted it—"

"Not you!" Ryder said. "Your Highness, are you all right?"

"Our friend Spencer here got a little carried away," Sam said, rubbing at his own wrists. "Remind me to thank Sue for the years of self-defense training." He'd never had occasion to use it before tonight.

Ryder held Spencer's arms behind him just a _little_ more roughly than was strictly necessary; he had to use all his self-restraint not to be a _lot_ rougher than necessary. Prince Samuel told him what had happened while he got dressed, Spencer interrupting frequently to say he thought the prince _wanted_ it rough.

It sucked not having Jake here. If Jake were here, one of them could watch Spencer while the other talked privately to the prince. But since that wasn't going to happen...well, Spencer probably wouldn't try to leave via the fire escape, especially without his clothes. And if he did...it might not actually make much difference. Ryder had a feeling he was going to end up letting him go anyway. 

He moved Spencer into the bathroom and told him to wait there. It would be nice if the kid would get the bright idea to take a shower to wash away DNA evidence or something, which would not only keep him busy but also make it harder for him to overhear. Ryder then grabbed the kid's clothes and asked the prince if they could speak outside in the hallway.

"Your Highness," he said softly (because he couldn't _count_ on Spencer turning the shower on or even on him staying in the bathroom rather than listening at the door), "was it assault? If he assaulted you I will call the police."

"Mmm...I'm not sure I'd call it _assault_..."

"If you're really not sure...If it was, like I said, I'll call the police. But if it wasn't...I don't want to tell you anything you don't want to know, but...but you know that thing you never want to know about?"

It took Sam a moment to realize what Ryder was talking about, in part because Ryder and Jake had been so great about not bringing it to his attention when...

The age of consent was eighteen. But if Sam didn't _know_ some guy he was hooking up with was only sixteen or seventeen...

It would be a decent legal defense for Sam, should any indiscretion ever be discovered. The legal position of a guard who did know, however, might be more questionable. "It wasn't assault," Sam said decisively. "He was out of line, but not _criminally_."

Ryder nodded gratefully. He didn't want to thank the prince out loud, because he'd already alluded too much to things that were supposed to go unspoken. "Are you hurt?"

"No. No more than some mornings after I've been with Kurt. It took me by surprise more than anything. I'm fine."

"I'll have your doctor swing by to be sure."

"Ryder," Prince Samuel said, placing his hands on Ryder's shoulders and looking in his eyes, "I'm completely fine."

"I'm glad, Your Highness. But I'm calling her anyway. Shall I summon her here, or..."

Prince Samuel sighed. "To the palace," he said. "I think I'm done here for the night."


	7. Super Gay

Blaine had to get up early Monday to make breakfast for Jesse and Rachel. Their original plan had been to go back to school Sunday evening, but Rachel had been too rattled after being abandoned at the palace, so they were driving up early today instead. 

Once they were gone, Shelby announced she was going back to bed and left Blaine alone in the kitchen to clean up. While he was loading the dishwasher he looked out the window and saw something moving in the garden. Could it be a raccoon? Could Kurt have sent it as a signal to him? He ran outside, letting a coffee mug crash to the floor behind him. 

It _was_ a raccoon! He saw it climb up the fence and into the neighbor's yard. "Kurt?" he called. There was just enough daylight that he could see Kurt was nowhere in his own yard, so he climbed over the fence into the neighbor's. "Kurt?"

Suddenly the porch light went on and his neighbor was standing there in her nightgown. "Blaine? What are you doing here?"

"Oh. Hi, Ms. Doosenbury. I was just...I saw a raccoon."

"And you named him Kurt?"

"What? No! I didn't say 'Kurt.' I said, 'Get!' As in, 'Go on, you stupid raccoon, _get_ out of Ms. Doosenbury's yard!'"

"Mm-hmm."

"So...he seems to be gone now—or she, I don't really know how you can tell with raccoons—so I'll just..."

"Blaine. I know you're gay, and I don't care. And I know how your mom is. But you can't use my yard for hookups."

"No! I would never..."

"Go home now, Blaine."

So Blaine went home. Kurt wasn't around, and what he'd seen was apparently just a regular raccoon, just going about its regular raccoon business. Blaine went back into the kitchen, dug the remains of Rachel's gluten-free muffin out of the trash, and took them outside to leave in the garden for the little guy. Or little gal. He went back in again, cleaned up the coffee mug shards, finished loading the dishwasher, and then he found himself, oddly, with nothing particular he had to do.

It was so quiet in the house, and kind of beautiful in the early morning light. He wished Sam were there to share it with him. He felt Sam's absence like an actual physical emptiness inside him.

It was ridiculous, he was being ridiculous, he told himself. Such a drama queen! He was starting to remind himself of Rachel, Jesus. 

To kill some time before he had to get ready for work, he went online. He ended up reading a bunch of accounts of the royal ball. And they were all totally accurate about stuff like the music and the décor, but not one of them mentioned him. Like, there was something about Princess Beth's surprise appearance, but it only said that she cut in on Prince Samuel "and his unknown masked dance partner" and then implied (but didn't actually _say_ ) that it was Prince Samuel she danced with.

He went upstairs to take a shower, but found himself crawling back into bed instead. 

Kurt wasn't coming back to help him again.

Prince Samuel wanted to cover up the fact that they'd ever even danced together.

Blaine would never see him again. 

He covered his head with the blankets and he held the pillow to him, wishing he could be holding Sam again, even just once, even just long enough to say a proper good-bye. But that would never happen, and it made him cry.

.

"Lady Brittany! What a pleasant surprise!"

Brittany hugged the housekeeper. "Donna, it's good to see you! When are you coming to have dinner with me and Santana?"

"When His Grace gives me a night off."

Brittany rolled her eyes. "I'll talk to him. Is he here?"

"He's at breakfast. Go right in."

Brittany made her way to the breakfast room and saw him standing with his back to her. "Daddy!" she shouted, startling the duke into spilling his coffee. 

He was smiling when he turned to her, though. "Dumpling! What brings you by?"

"Give Donna a night off some time this week so she can have dinner with me and Santana."

Her father frowned a little at that. "You know I don't personally oversee the servants' schedules. And of course Donna is free to do whatever she wants on her nights off, but you know I don't think it's a good idea for you to be socializing with the help."

"I know you don't, Daddy. But I like her. And you can totally give her an extra night off any time you feel like it."

The duke sighed. "Fine. Call my secretary."

"Thank you, Daddy!" Brittany wrapped her arms around her father and kissed his cheek. She sat and took an orange from a bowl on the table.

The duke poured himself some more coffee and sat across from her. "How are things at Paws-itively 4th Street? Do you need some more publicity?"

"That would be great, Daddy! Thank you!" Paws-itively was the cat rescue organization she ran. It was actually located on Fourth Street, so the name was inevitable. She started peeling her orange and asked, "Aren't you going to ask me how the ball was?"

"Of course! Did you have a nice time?"

"No, I mean aren't you going to ask me about the ball itself? About what happened there? Not just if Santana and I had a good time."

"I don't understand what you mean, Dumpling. I was there, I know what happened. And it's pretty much all we covered yesterday, so..."

"Yeah, it's all you covered, but your reporters left a lot out, so I thought maybe somehow no one had noticed..."

The duke sighed. "If you're talking about that boy the prince was spending time with..."

"That's exactly who I'm talking about."

"You know my media outlets don't engage in salacious gossip."

"What's salacious? I mean, okay, some of it kind of was, but you could have mentioned that they were _dancing_."

"We don't even know the young man's name. It was a masked ball, if you'll recall."

"Fine, but you knew it was a man. And yet you went out of your way to avoid mentioning that detail!"

"Yes, of course we did!" Coffee sloshed onto the table as the duke slammed his cup down. "Look, Dumpling, I know how you like to think you're so modern and cutting edge with your girlfriend—"

"My _wife_!"

"Your _girlfriend_ until I see a valid marriage certificate stating otherwise."

"And you'll do anything you can to prevent that, won't you? Even if it means screwing thousands of other people out of marrying who they love too."

"You seem to think I have a lot more power than I do, Dumpling."

"You seem to think I'm a lot more naïve than I am, Daddy. You control practically all the media in this kingdom. You know how much people love the royal family, and you know that if people knew one of them was gay, it would do _so_ much to advance gay rights here."

"I'm not going to out a prince—and make an enemy of the king—just to advance _your_ radical agenda."

"Has the king asked you to keep it a secret?"

"He doesn't have to! Dumpling, things like this are just understood!"

"Right. It's just _understood_ that having a queer child is the most shameful thing ever."

"I didn't say that, Dumpling. And besides, you're not queer."

Brittany stood. "I can't talk to you anymore. I'll...I'll call your secretary about Donna. Give my love to Mom."

.

Blaine called the bookstore and told his boss he was sick. He'd never called in sick before, not even when he was, so his boss didn't suspect he was lying. Not that he even was, necessarily. He'd cried so much he didn't think he physically had enough energy to get out of bed and get in the shower, much less make it through six hours at the bookstore, followed by five more at the restaurant. He fell asleep again, curled up with his tear-soaked pillow.

It was almost noon when he woke. He didn't want to get out of bed, but he had to pee. After he did he decided he might as well get something to eat while he was up anyway. He stopped short at the top of the stairs, though, when he heard voices below. He hadn't realized Shelby was working from home today, though since the other voice seemed to be her friend Terri, it seemed a safe bet that she wasn't working that hard.

He was tempted to just go down to the kitchen anyway, and fuck it if she caught him skipping work. She was basically doing the same thing. But. He really didn't have it in him to listen to her screaming at him right now. He was about to turn around and go back to his room when he heard his name, so naturally he paused to listen. And he heard Shelby tell the story of Blaine coming home the morning before with come stains on Jesse's suit, which Terri found hilarious.

Blaine felt his face burning. It didn't feel like shame, though; it felt like rage. And he wasn't sure what to do with this particular rage, and he was frozen in place, listening to Shelby recount the rest of the family's adventures from the day before, or Rachel's version of them anyway. Blaine wanted at that point to march downstairs and tell them what had _really_ happened at the ball, but he was still frozen.

Shelby mentioned Jesse and Rachel driving back to school in the morning—"which is why I was too tired to go into the office this morning!"—and Terri said, "You know, I've never understood why they enrolled at the provincial conservatory instead of the royal one. They'd be so much closer if they went to school in the capital! Not to mention how much better a school it is."

"It just costs _so_ much more," Shelby said. The royal conservatory cost about twice as much as the provincial one, and the provincial one was expensive enough that Shelby hadn't even allowed Blaine to apply.

"But what about Matt?" Terri asked. Blaine felt something clutch at his heart at the mention of his dad's name. No one ever, ever talked about him anymore.

"You mean the guy who left me a young widow with three children to raise on my own?" 

"And you've been so brave," Terri said, "and so inspiring. I just meant...he was on the faculty at the royal conservatory, right? And faculty's kids get free tuition. Even if the parents pass away, like I was just reading about a student there whose mother died in—"

"Jesse and Rachel were his stepchildren, though. It doesn't count for stepchildren."

"It doesn't? But that's so unfair!"

"I know! It's completely unfair! Matt loved those kids like he loved his own."

"Did you complain?"

"Of course! I fought so hard, Terri. A single mother just doesn't have a chance against these huge bureaucracies." She choked up a little.

"Oh, I know, honey. It's been so hard for you...." Blaine didn't stick around to listen to Shelby being comforted; he crept silently back to his room.

.

Ryder was hanging around the palace kitchen before lunch time, hoping word would come down that Prince Samuel wanted his food brought up to him. The prince was avoiding his family, so it was a good bet that he would. He did, and Ryder volunteered to take the food to his private sitting room. He wanted to talk to the prince as soon as possible, somewhere that Sue would never dare to bug.

Prince Samuel was only slightly surprised to see who it was with his lunch. "Hey, Ryder. Thanks for insisting on calling Liz last night."

"You're welcome, Your Highness."

"I was being sarcastic, dude. I had to endure the safe sex lecture _again_."

"Dr. Stevens doesn't know about Kurt and his magical vaccination, Your Highness. She's just trying to keep you safe."

"I'm perfectly safe!"

"Actually, Your Highness..." Ryder lowered his voice. "I think last night shows that you aren't, necessarily. May I come in? I'd actually like to talk about your safety."

The prince sighed, but the sigh sounded more indulgent than exasperated, and he invited Ryder to come in and sit with him while he ate.

"Security for you while you carry out this plan is going to be difficult with only one guard," Ryder began.

"Yeah. Well, you do have a point there. If Jake is still sick maybe we could hold off a day."

"Jake...isn't actually sick, Your Highness."

"What? No. If Jake wanted time off he would just ask me, he wouldn't lie about being sick."

"No. He wouldn't lie to you, Your Highness. But Jake isn't the one who told you he's sick, right? That was Ms. Sylvester."

"You're saying he lied to Sue?"

"No, Your Highness. I'm saying _Jake_ didn't lie at all." This was as close as Ryder dared to get to coming right out and accusing his boss of lying to the prince.

Luckily the prince didn't need it spelled out any more than that, though he did still seem skeptical. "But why would Sue lie?" he asked.

"Maybe she doesn't want you to know yet that she fired him."

Prince Samuel set down his fork and dashed out into the hall. It happened so fast that Ryder had to scramble to follow him. "Wait, Your Highness!" he called, and thank God His Highness did wait long enough for Ryder to catch up with him. "Please, can we finish talking in your sitting room before you do anything?"

So they returned to the sitting room, but neither sat. "Why shouldn't I go give Sue a piece of my mind and demand that she rehire him immediately?"

"For one thing, because she's probably already got His Majesty on her side. But more importantly, if she knows you know, she'll think Jake contacted you, or contacted me, and she'll withhold his severance pay and any recommendations for other jobs he applies for."

"So he's screwed if he even contacts us?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"How do you even know this?"

"I contacted him. He gave me his brother's phone number once, so I tried it and he was there. I didn't use my own phone, though, so Ms. Sylvester won't know."

Prince Samuel considered that. "Wouldn't it have been better if she _did_ know? So she couldn't accuse _him_ of calling _you_?"

"Um...maybe you're right, Your Highness. I didn't think of that, I just thought it would be risky for her to know I knew at all."

"Okay, just..." The prince handed Ryder his phone. "Put his brother's number in here and _I'll_ call him." Ryder entered the number under Jake's brother's name and handed it back. Prince Samuel looked at it, held his finger over the call button, and then looked back at Ryder. "Noah," he read out loud. "How is he, anyway? Jake never talks about him."

"Jake's kind of under the impression that talking about him here is forbidden."

"Yeah. I guess it is. I guess if he answers I can ask him myself."

.

Blaine got back into bed, but he didn't cry, and he didn't sleep. He was way too shaken by what he'd just heard.

His father had been on the faculty at the royal conservatory!? Shelby had always just told him his father was a teacher. And whenever Blaine had asked what he taught, she'd just said something vague about _little brats_ or something, so Blaine had assumed he taught grade school, or maybe even preschool. And maybe it wouldn't have mattered before he took an interest in singing, but she _knew_ he would have loved to go to the conservatory, and to think that he could have gone for free...!

And, yeah, maybe he wouldn't have gotten accepted, but he sure as hell would have _tried_ if he'd known the tuition wouldn't be an obstacle! 

He had to get out of this house, he had to get away from her.

He knew now that Kurt was not going to come back and rescue him. 

Not that he was bitter toward Kurt. He was grateful, he was. Kurt had said he'd do _one_ thing for him, and he'd done it, and it had been amazing. Kurt had given him the best night of his life, his night with Sam.

But Sam was not going to rescue him either. 

Blaine was going to have to rescue himself.

.

Sam went to see his father right after he got off the phone with Jake. "How could you let Sue fire Jake?" he demanded.

The king set down the paper he'd been reading and gestured for his son to sit across the desk from him. "Sue is in charge of security," he said. "Hiring and firing guards is part of her job."

"But you're the king. Make her hire him back!" A withering glance from his father made Sam shrink a little in his seat. "Please, Father. He's been so loyal and dedicated all these years."

"Did he ask you to go over Sue's head and intervene on his behalf?"

"No! I only even know what happened because I managed to track him down through one of his relatives. I was worried because Sue said he was sick, and he never gets sick."

The king frowned. "Sue shouldn't have lied to you. I'll reprimand her for that. I assume she did so because she knew you were close and would try to interfere."

"Damn right I would try to interfere!"

"Samuel! Language!"

Sam bowed his head. "I apologize, Father."

The king stood. "I trust Sue's judgment. And I agree with her. Jake smuggled a stranger into the royal ball without even finding out his name. Do you have any idea what—"

"But I'm glad he did! I'm in love with that 'stranger', and I wouldn't have even met him if Jake hadn't let him in!"

There was a several-second pause, the king's stare boring into his son. "I beg your pardon?" 

"I mean..."

"Am I to understand that the young man you were so publicly...let's say 'displaying your affection for'...is someone you only met that night?"

Shit. Sam had assumed his mother would have already shared this information with his father. Given how his father was taking it, it was clear that his mother's instincts were better than his. There was no point denying it now, however, so he just said, "Yes, Father."

The king was silent again, and none too happy, Sam could tell. Finally he said, "Well, then I guess at least you can tell Sue his name."

Sam looked down. "No, Father. I don't know it."

"You don't know it," his father repeated.

"No, Father."

"Look me in the eye, Samuel." Sam did, and his father continued. "If you are lying to me to protect Jake or this new friend of yours..."

"I'm not, Father. I'd give anything to know his name. I'd give anything to be able to find him again."

"You don't know how to get in touch with him?"

"No, Father."

Again there was silence. When it was broken, it was by his father saying, "You need to leave my office now, Samuel."

.

Blaine had been planning on staying home all day, but he decided to work his shift at Hungry's after all. He wouldn't be able to save up enough money to get his own place by not working. Shelby was waiting for him in the hallway when he left the bathroom after his shower. "Blaine! What are you doing home? I thought you were at the bookstore."

"I had a headache so I called in."

"You missed work because of a _headache_!? Boo hoo! Suck it up, Blaine, this family has bills to pay!"

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm working from home, and I don't care for your tone."

"Uh-huh. Well, I'll get out of your way now, since you're working. I have my second job to get to."

It was slow at work, which was bad tips-wise but nice otherwise because he actually got to talk to Dani a bit. And Dani was talkative enough to take his mind off his own stuff a little. Dani had a girlfriend. "...And I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I wasn't sure if...I mean I've never even really _dated_ before because my mom and dad, you know—and they absolutely do not know about her, by the way—and...but anyway, I really like her!"

"That's great, Dani. What's her name?"

"Sunshine," Dani said, sighing a little. "Do you want to meet her? We're going out after I get off work; why don't you come with us?"

"Uh, no. I don't want to horn in on your date."

"Oh, come on! I want you to meet her!"

"I'd like to, but..." Blaine was happy for Dani, he was, but the last thing he felt like doing was being a third wheel on someone else's date.

"We're going to a karaoke bar..." Dani said. 

"Mmm..." It was tempting, actually. Blaine loved to sing, after all—and he used to be good at it. What if he still was? What if...Well, karaoke with lesbians would be a pretty low-risk way to find out if it was something even worth considering. "Yeah. Okay. Why not?"

.

Jake didn't expect Prince Samuel to have good news for him, but he agreed to meet him at Starchild anyway. Well, _agreed_ was hardly the right word. Even though he wasn't a palace employee anymore, it would never have occurred to him to refuse a summons from the prince.

He was the first one there, and Elliott showed him up to the little apartment. He rose, naturally, when the prince and Ryder came in several minutes later, and the prince walked up to him and hugged him and said, "I'm so sorry, Jake. I talked to Sue. Maybe it'll make you happy that she got in a little bit of trouble with the king, but only for lying to me. It was enough to make her really pissed at me, even though she had to act like she wasn't. Anyway, she wanted me to pick one of the unassigned guards to be Ryder's partner, but...I mean, it's kind of sensitive what we're doing here, right? I can't trust just anyone."

"I'm sorry, Your Highness," Jake said.

"No, I'm not blaming you. I told Sue I'd have to think about who I want, but...Ryder doesn't think it's safe with just him."

"There was an incident last night," Ryder added.

Jake raised his eyebrows. "Are you all right, Your Highness?"

"Oh, yeah. No big deal," Prince Samuel said, making a brushing-off gesture. "But...I have a proposition for you."

Jake immediately accepted the Prince Samuel's proposition, namely that he work for him unofficially when they were outside the palace. The prince insisted on paying him in cash out of his allowance, although Jake would have done it for free. He cared about the prince—and about Ryder, who he knew this was going to be hard on—too much to trust any other guard during the prince's mission. Especially after hearing what had happened with the underage guy from last night.

.

Dustin sat at his "usual" table, sipping a beer and trying not to feel guilty for lying to David. Well, he hadn't _actually_ lied, he told himself. He just hadn't told David everything. Like...well, obviously he hadn't mentioned that he was going to fuck Prince Samuel. (That is, he _hoped_ he was going to fuck Prince Samuel; Elliott hadn't actually been able to guarantee that the prince would be back.)

Strangely, though, the plan to fuck the prince wasn't really what he felt guilty about. No, Dustin had told David he would, if given the opportunity. So basically he had permission.

But still. He knew David well enough to know that he wouldn't want to _know_ about it. 

What he did feel a little guilty about was that he hadn't mentioned that he'd found Mercedes last night. It was just to protect David, so when he said he was going back to Starchild tonight, David would naturally assume it was for work. (Dustin didn't actually _say_ it was for work because he wasn't a liar!)

He wasn't sure why this omission bothered him so much, except...well, David would have been so happy for him, if he'd known. It was a big deal that he'd managed to find Mercedes and get her to come into the studio. And even though she hadn't signed with the label yet (and seemed weirdly opposed to the very idea of _signing_ legal documents of any sort—Dustin was going to have to find out if that was some weird religious thing or what), the Roderick kid actually was very promising. Even signing just him, especially if Mercedes would record a duet with him, would be really good for his career. So just having to hide his excitement from his financé felt weirdly kind of like lying. Even though it wasn't!

But it felt enough like it was that he actually thought about leaving. He actually thought maybe he _shouldn't_ do this. 

But...if he went home this early, David would wonder why. And Dustin could tell the truth, he guessed, but then he'd just be hurting David without even getting to fuck the prince. So he stayed and he waited.

Guys came over to chat and flirt now and then. Dustin didn't flirt back with them, so none stayed very long, but he did pick up some gossip from this one guy. Supposedly Prince Samuel was a bottom now and he wanted to make up for lost time or something by getting fucked by as many different guys as possible. Of course no one actually believed this—some kid last night claimed he and his friend had both fucked the prince, but this was as he was getting thrown out, so...—but still, wouldn't it be fucking amazing if true? Dustin just nodded and agreed it would be fucking amazing. He wasn't about to jeopardize his place as next in line by confirming the crazy rumor.

.

Sebastian rented a car at the airport. Doing so was a frankly baffling ordeal, and he wished he'd had the foresight to call his driver before getting on a plane in Paris. Even if he'd called after he landed it might have been quicker, but he'd mistakenly assumed he would save time this way.

Well, no matter. The important thing was he was on his way to see his first love again. Okay, _love_ was probably too strong a word. But Sam...Prince Samuel had definitely been his _first_. The memory of that very first time made him cringe a bit.

It started shortly after curfew. Sebastian had barely made it to his own room in time after an evening spent making out with Sam in his bed. They'd been doing that a lot lately; usually it ended with Sebastian sucking Sam off shortly before curfew and jerking off in his bed after, but this particular night—they must have lost track of the time or something—they'd both been hard and unsatisfied still when Sebastian had to leave.

Sebastian was lying in his bed trying not to make any noise to alert his roommate, Thad, as to what he was doing, even though deep down he knew Thad was probably perfectly aware. Thad was a decent guy, though, and he pretended not to notice. He was also nice enough to get up to answer the door when Mr. Schuester knocked the second time—which was unusual, but it did happen occasionally, particularly if he suspected something was up.

It wasn't Mr. Schuester at the door, though. It was Sam, in pajama bottoms and no top. As soon as the door was open he said, "Go sleep somewhere else tonight, Thad."

Thad hesitated, and Sebastian could easily imagine everything that was going through his head. He would get in trouble if he was caught out of his room. His friends might not let him in because then they could get in trouble too. Following the prince's orders wouldn't be accepted as an excuse, because every student was supposedly equal at the school. Some guys didn't even realize Sebastian was a count...until he told them! Everyone knew who Prince Samuel was, obviously, but they were supposed to call him Samuel or even Sam and treat him like any other classmate. (Except when they weren't, like anyone who was in a class with him or at his table in the dining hall couldn't sit until he did.) The prince wasn't officially allowed to order the other guys around, and he generally didn't, but when he did ask someone to do something they mostly did it because...well, it was hard not to be aware that he could become the king at any moment. True, he was only third in line, but it wasn't hard to imagine a car crash or a palace fire or something killing King Dwight, Princess Quinn, and Princess Beth all at once.

Sebastian gave Thad some much-needed encouragement to do the right thing: "Go on, stop being a fucking cockblock!"

Thad left, reluctantly. Sam got into Sebastian's bed, lay right on top of him, and ground his hard-on against Sebastian's hip. "You left me all horny still!" he accused.

"Yeah, well," Sebastian said, "now you know how I feel basically every night when I leave your room."

"Yeah?" Sam asked. "You want me to suck you off?"

Maybe Sebastian should have pretended to have to think about it or something, but he blurted out, "Oh my God, yes!"

"Okay," Sam said, and he reached inside Sebastian's boxers and stroked his dick. He licked his lips and moved his head down like he was going to start, but then he added, "But if I do, I want you to let me put mine in your butt."

"Okay," Sebastian said. It wasn't something he'd ever especially imagined wanting someone to do to him. He'd seen gay porn, and he'd always wanted to be the guy putting it in the other guy's butt. But Sam was touching his dick and saying he was going to suck it; Sebastian would have agreed to just about anything at that moment.

Sam pulled Sebastian's boxers off and scooted lower on the bed. He took Sebastian's dick in his hand and moved it this way and that, sort of inspecting it. "I really like your dick!" he declared.

"Thanks," Sebastian said, trying really hard to hold it still.

"Do you like mine too?"

"I wouldn't suck it practically every night if I didn't."

"You might," Sam said. "You might do it just because I'm a prince."

"I really like it," Sebastian said. "I really like you touching mine."

"I think I'm actually gonna like sucking it. You don't think that's too un-royal-like, do you?"

"Not at all."

"Yeah, I don't think so either. But still don't tell anyone."

"I promise." Sebastian involuntarily squirmed a little.

Sam put his face very close to it and licked it slowly. Then again. And again. "This is... _awesome_!" he announced.

"Mm-hmm!" Sebastian agreed. He was having trouble thinking of actual words at the moment.

Sam went back to licking. Not really _sucking_ , Sebastian couldn't help but notice, but he wasn't complaining. It was like Sam just wanted to taste every part of it. And then finally he did put it inside his mouth, and that was by far the most amazing thing Sebastian had ever felt. He couldn't control his hips at all, couldn't stop himself from pushing up into Sam's mouth. It was just, it was exactly where his dick wanted to be, so snug and warm and wet. And the drag of Sam's lips along his shaft as Sebastian moved his cock in and out, it was so incredibly perfect.

"Dude, how can I suck it if you don't hold still?" Sam paused to ask. Sebastian didn't have an answer, but Sam didn't wait for one; he held Sebastian's hips down, wrapped his mouth around his cock, and started to suck.

Even with his hips being held in place, it was literally all Sebastian could do not to thrust. He couldn't not come—pretty much right away—and he couldn't not scream when he did. His mind emptied just as his balls did, and he felt nothing but euphoria.

The second it was over, Sam jumped out of bed and hid in the closet in case Mr. Schuester was going to check on the noise. Sebastian knew he should have felt bad about being so loud, but he was feeling way too _good_ to feel bad about anything. And he felt cocky too—so much that when Sam felt it was safe to come out of the closet, Sebastian asked him, "Did you swallow my load?"

"Hell no," Sam said. "I took your dick out of my mouth at the last minute—I'm surprised you didn't notice. It got in my hair, but don't worry. I cleaned it off on a shirt in your closet."

"Oh." Sebastian hoped he was joking. Or if not, he hoped it was one of Thad's shirts. 

"My turn!" Sam said. "Roll over."

Fuck. Part of Sebastian had forgotten about Sam's turn. The part that hadn't was hoping that somehow _Sam_ would forget. Having already come, he found the prospect of getting fucked very unappealing...and kind of terrifying. But what was he going to do? Go back on his promise to the prince? He rolled over onto his stomach.

Sam stepped out of his pajama pants—he didn't have any underwear underneath, Sebastian noticed—and hopped back onto the bed, kneeling between Sebastian's spread legs. Sebastian buried his face in his pillow at this point rather than twisting his neck to try to watch. He felt a finger poking at his asshole and then being pushed inside. It didn't exactly hurt. And then the finger wiggled around a little, and it kind of made him feel like he had to take a shit, although he was pretty sure he didn't _actually_ have to. That part was weird and Sebastian was glad it didn't last too long. Next Sam grabbed his buttcheeks, and then Sebastian felt something wet land on his asshole, and it took him a second to realize it must have been Sam spitting on him. He'd seen that in a porno once; maybe Sam had seen the same one. Or maybe it was an actual thing gay guys did. At any rate, he was pretty sure that there was spit on his butthole and that Sam was rubbing it around now. The spitting and rubbing alternated with the poking and fingering for a bit, and then Sam lay flat on top of him and pressed the tip of his dick right up against Sebastian's hole.

Sebastian squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. Sam pushed in, and it hurt _so_ bad. Sebastian tried not to cry out, but he couldn't help it.

Sam stopped pushing. "Is that good?" he asked uncertainly.

No! No, it was very, very not good! But Sebastian wasn't going to try to weasel his way out of his end of the deal. "I'll be all right. Just give me a second."

"Did it hurt? I barely got the tip in."

"I _said_ I'll be all right if you just give me a second."

"Okay. Jesus. Bite my head off, why don't you?"

Sebastian tried to take a deep breath. Failing that, he tried to take a normal breath. He managed that after a few attempts and said, "Okay. Go ahead."

Sam went ahead. Sebastian felt like he was being torn apart. He thought he was hiding it well enough, though, until Sam stopped and said, "You're crying."

"No, I'm not," Sebastian said, though talking made it completely obvious that he actually was.

Sam pulled out, which was _such_ a relief. He said, "You should have just told me it hurt."

"I could have taken it." Sebastian didn't, however, go so far as to insist that Sam try again. "Want me to suck you off?"

"Ew, no. It was just in your butt, you don't wanna put it in your mouth now. Don't worry, I'll take care of it." Sebastian didn't turn to look—mainly because he didn't want the prince to see his tears—but he quickly figured out that Sam was jerking himself off. Sure enough, he soon felt one, two, three hot ropes of come land on his back before Sam lay down next to him.

For a couple weeks after that, Sam didn't even invite Sebastian to his room to make out anymore. Sebastian wasn't about to grovel or anything, but he really missed it. He really wished he had just let Sam finish. It wouldn't have hurt _that_ much. It wouldn't have literally _killed_ him.

Then one day, as Sebastian was walking from history to French, Sam grabbed his arm in the hall and said, "Guess what!"

"Uh...what?"

"I've been practicing with Connor, and he taught me what to do to make it not hurt!"

It only took Sebastian a second to figure out what Sam meant he'd been practicing. "Connor _Who_?" he demanded. And he instantly regretted his tone because he should _not_ make it sound like he was jealous. Even though he was.

Sam didn't seem to pick up on anything though. He said, "Connor Warbler. You know, the senior? Most people just call him and his brother—"

"Super Gay Warbler and Other Really Gay Warbler," Sebastian finished for him. "Yeah, I've heard of them. Which one is Connor?"

"Super Gay. Anyway, the point is, let me try it again. It won't even hurt!"

So Sebastian let him try again that night. It did still hurt, but not nearly as much as the first time. It didn't make him cry this time, and Sam sucked him off first again, so it was worth it. The next time hurt even less, and after that it hardly hurt at all. 

But Sebastian never actually enjoyed it. He assumed that no guy did, that guys who seemed to like it in porn were just acting. In real life, the only reason to let someone do that to you was so you would get a turn doing it to them. 

Except Sam flat-out refused to let him have a turn. "Princes don't take it in the ass," he said any time Sebastian brought it up. Sebastian challenged him to show him where that was written, and of course it _wasn't_ written anywhere (except on the sheet of notebook paper that Sam wrote it on, just then). Sebastian also pointed out that, technically, they were all equals while at school—and that even if they weren't, Sebastian wasn't _that_ far beneath him, he was literally the second-highest ranking student at the school. Sam would have none of it, however, and Sebastian didn't push _too_ hard. The prince's blowjobs were getting better and better, and Sebastian was wary of pushing him away altogether.

One afternoon Sebastian found himself sharing a table in the library with Other Really Gay Warbler—Oliver, he learned later—who leaned across the table and whispered, "I heard you're the prince's favorite."

"Favorite what?" Sebastian asked, trying and failing to sound casual.

"Oh please," Oliver said, rolling his eyes. "He's only done me twice, and it was so amazing. I'm totally jealous that you get his dick practically every night."

"Wait. You're jealous because he fucks me? Or is it because he blows me?"

"He blows you too? Oh my God, now I'm extra jealous! Though I would take him fucking me over blowing me any day."

They talked some more, and it turned out Oliver actually really liked getting fucked. And it didn't have to be by the prince—he was open to letting Sebastian do it. And, God, Sebastian discovered that he liked fucking _so much_ more than being fucked.

Over time he discovered that Oliver wasn't the only guy at the school who preferred _being_ fucked, and so it all sort of worked out.

He missed Sam, though. Oh, they stayed friends. They still made out and sucked each other sometimes—though it was far more often Sebastian sucking Sam than vice versa. But he stopped letting Sam fuck him. He really thought at the time that they could have been proper boyfriends if only Sam had been willing to take turns. But now he realized it was better that they weren't. He'd had a few proper boyfriends over the years, all of whom were strictly bottoms. Everyone was happy that way. Sexually, anyway. Obviously they weren't completely happy as couples or they wouldn't have broken up, but the break-ups were for other reasons.

Now he had no illusions that he could be Prince Samuel's boyfriend. But when Elliott had called and told him about the prince's bottoming spree, Sebastian dropped everything and got on a plane. There was no way he was going to pass up the chance he'd been waiting for all these years.

.

Sam invited Elliott into the apartment while Ryder and Jake were checking out the next guy, Dustin, in the hallway. "Isn't he a little...old?" he asked. Not that the guy was _elderly_ or anything, but he definitely seemed older than Darren.

"You didn't specify any certain age, Your Highness. You specified someone you've never fucked before."

It was true, Sam had never fucked this guy before. Not that he remembered, anyway. "Yeah, but I also said I was looking for guys who are not very experienced."

"Yes, Your Highness. As far as I know he's only been with one man. Though I didn't really feel comfortable interrogating him _thoroughly_. I can tell him no if you'd like. Or you could ask him more questions first."

No, Sam _couldn't_ ask him more questions. That was the problem. And he didn't want to take the risk of sending away anyone who could conceivably be Darren. Kurt had mentioned that Darren had a hard life. Maybe it was hard enough to make him look older than he was. Or maybe Darren actually was older than Kurt made him look. Maybe one of his hardships was getting well into adulthood without getting laid. Oh man, that would be so sad! "No, don't tell him no."

Ryder escorted the guy in. He didn't raise any red flags like Spencer had (or _should_ have, if Ryder had been more alert!): he was calm and respectful and didn't even seem like he'd been drinking at all. 

And he was forty! Which had nothing to do with how big a risk he posed, but Ryder thought it seemed pretty unlikely that a forty-year-old would turn out to be Darren. He kept this opinion to himself, however. Also, there was something vaguely familiar about him, but Ryder couldn't put his finger on what it was. He didn't have any reason to believe it was related to anything that might put the prince at risk, though.

Dustin bowed. Sam studied him, looking for signs of Darren, even though he knew it was pointless. "How are you tonight, Dustin?"

"Excellent, Your Highness, thank you for asking. And how are you?"

"Very well, thank you."

"Might I just say, Your Highness, that your ball was lovely. It was so kind of you to—"

"You were there?"

"Yes, I—"

"Wait! Don't say any more!"

"No?"

"No! My God, don't ruin it!" Could it actually be him? _"It was so kind of you to"_...To what!? But he couldn't let him go on in case he really was going to say...and in case Kurt would hear him say...

 _Dustin._ The name was really similar to _Darren_. Same first and last letters. Both six letters, two syllables. That would be just like Kurt. Holy shit, this _could_ really be him! He had so many questions; it was so hard not to ask them before he was sure.

Sam studied him again, not looking for signs of Darren this time, but wondering if he could see himself with this guy for the rest of his life. It wasn't Darren's looks, of course, that made Sam fall in love with him, but...well, they hadn't hurt. And Dustin was plenty good looking too. Striking blue eyes. Strong eyebrows. Tall (although Sam had kind of liked how Darren was shorter than him, but whatever, he could adapt). "Take your clothes off."

Dustin silently obeyed. It was a little awkward, the not talking thing, but if that was the way the prince wanted it, he wasn't going to question it. Prince Samuel watched him undress, and he evidently liked what he saw. Dustin couldn't help but smirk a little at that. He knew it was inappropriate, but come on! A hot twenty-one-year old _prince_ was into him! Who wouldn't be a little cocky at that?

Once Dustin was naked, Prince Samuel continued to check him out for a minute before he began taking off his own clothes. And when he did—as David would say, "¡Dios mío!" Not that he was thinking about David right now. Not that he didn't love David more than anything and not that he didn't still find David attractive, but...well, David was not twenty-one anymore.

Prince Samuel handed him a small jar. The label said it was coconut oil. What the...? Did the prince want a massage first? One with some kind of a tropical beach roleplay scenario? How would roleplay even work if one of them wasn't allowed to speak? Not to mention not knowing what role he was supposed to be playing?

Dustin was looking at the coconut oil like he didn't know what to do with it. "Use it as a lube," Sam told him, somewhat disheartened. Surely Darren would remember. Then again, there was a lot going on that night. The coconut oil was just a small, insignificant detail.

Oh. Coconut oil as lube, okay. Apparently that meant they wouldn't be using condoms. That didn't seem like such a great idea if Prince Samuel had fucked anywhere near the number of guys he was rumored to have fucked. But...Jesus, the guy was hot. And topping was less risky than bottoming, and he hadn't (reportedly) _bottomed_ very much at all, so...

Sam lay on his stomach and Dustin sat beside him. His fingers were strong; that was nice. They weren't tentative; that was...Sam wasn't sure. He wouldn't expect Darren to be _too_ tentative with him, but he wouldn't expect him to be this confident either.

God, Sam had to stop analyzing every detail. If the details could help him figure it out then that would be one thing, but they couldn't. Until Dustin's cock was in his ass, there was nothing to do but wait. Wait and just enjoy it, because, yeah, this Dustin guy was really good with his fingers.

Dustin wondered if he was really not allowed to speak _at all_. If this were David he wouldn't need to; he would know when his fiancé was ready. But he hadn't been with anyone other than David in almost three years. He was _pretty_ sure the prince was ready, but he wanted to be _completely_ sure. He didn't want to risk making the prince angry by speaking, but he didn't want to risk making him angry by hurting him either. He pressed his cock against the prince's entrance—very lightly, so as not to breach him accidentally—and asked, "Okay?"

Oh, this was it, Dustin was finally ready! Except Sam didn't want to be taken from behind; he wanted to be able to look into Darren's eyes if it really was him. He turned onto his back and repositioned them before he said, "Yeah. Okay."

Dustin pushed in carefully, but not hesitantly. Kind of like he knew what he was doing. That...that wasn't really a good sign. Not that it didn't feel good, like, objectively, but that was a different question.

Oh God the prince felt good. So tight. So _young_. Dustin was kissing the muscular leg propped up on his shoulder as he slipped deeper inside. He turned to watch the prince's face as he slid in that final inch or so, and it was gorgeous, yes, but alarming because he looked...terribly disappointed somehow. Dustin desperately wanted to make it right, but he didn't know what he was doing wrong, and he couldn't ask. Could he? He had to. He had to stop making the prince make that face. "Tell me what you want me to do, Your Highness. Please."

Sam looked into those blue eyes that he was now less and less convinced could possibly be Darren's. Why had he thought looking at the guy's unfamiliar face would help? He had to concentrate only on his dick. "You're doing great," Sam assured him. "I just...I think I'd rather turn over after all." Dustin moved back and Sam got onto his hands and knees. He spread his legs and took a deep breath. "Okay."

"Yes, Your Highness." Dustin got into position behind him. "Is there anything in particular you'd like—"

"No hints!" Sam insisted. He wasn't going to _tell_ the guy how to be more Darren-like. 

Hints? What the hell? Was Prince Samuel playing some sort of bizarre game? One that only he knew the rules to? But...okay, everyone knew royals were eccentric. The important thing was Dustin still got to fuck him. And since he had no chance of "winning" without even knowing what the game was, he might as well fuck him how he wanted.

And how he wanted to fuck him was long. As huge a turn-on as the prince's youth was for him, one advantage to maturity was that he could last way longer than he could when he was the prince's age. Since this was only going to be a one-time thing, he wanted to enjoy it for as long as possible.

Dustin entered him again, slowly but surely. He built up a steady but not rapid pace. It gave Sam plenty of time to just _feel_ the dick moving inside him.

It wasn't Darren's. He figured that out pretty quickly. But he wasn't sure _how_ he knew—when Darren fucked him, he wasn't, like, making a mental list of all the characteristics of how his dick felt, like how many centimeters in diameter, or the exact temperature or anything like that—and this bothered him. How could Kurt be so sure he would know? But Kurt did say he would know, he said it unequivocally, and Sam just had to trust that.

On the other hand, it couldn't hurt to give Dustin the benefit of the doubt for a little longer. He was really good; he was steadily working Sam up, hitting his prostate more and more frequently as he went on, and the longer he went on the more Sam felt like he was going to come. He really...oh, God, he was really going to, even without touching his own dick at all. Dustin kept nailing him in exactly the right spot, still not _every_ time, but when he did...God. If only...if only Dustin would fuck him just a _little_ harder, just a _little_ faster. Sam rocked himself back forcefully. "Come on, man!"

Dustin felt himself smirking, just a little smug that he'd managed to make the prince desperate for more. But he wasn't ready to give more yet. The prince was just going to have to be patient.

Sam was getting super impatient. He needed to come super bad. He knew he could just jerk himself, but he wanted to have the orgasm fucked out of him. Like Darren had done to him. Maybe...maybe it was still possible and this was how he would know. He was so close, and if Dustin would just...

Dustin grabbed Prince Samuel's hips and held them still. He did start moving a little faster, though. He didn't want to press his luck; he didn't want to provoke the prince to _order_ him to go faster. He fucked him faster and he started hitting his prostate with every thrust. The boy in front of him started to moan and shake. The moans turned to screams. The shaking turned to powerful muscle contractions. Dustin continued to fuck the prince through his orgasm, even though it was a struggle to move through the incredible tightness and even more of a struggle not to give in to the urge to come along with him.

Sam's arms were shaky after his orgasm, and he allowed himself to slump forward onto the pillow. He was so relaxed. He wasn't sure how his knees hadn't given out too until he realized Dustin was still holding his hips in place. And then Dustin slid into him again. Not hard or fast like just before Sam came, more like just before Sam started to get impatient. Turning his head to the side, just enough so he wouldn't be talking into the pillow, he asked, "You didn't come yet?"

"No, Your Highness. I can make you come again, if you'll let me keep going."

Okay, there was officially no way this was Darren. Darren would have come with him! And if, on some off chance, he hadn't he wouldn't be all cocky about it. So Sam could have said no. But he was so relaxed and content, and it didn't seem nice to make Dustin stop before he came, and he didn't want to be not nice to someone who had just made him feel so good. And besides. He kind of felt like Dustin's cockiness was justified, and if he said he could make Sam come again, then he could. "Yeah, man, keep going."

Yes! Although at this point, Dustin really wanted to go back to just slamming into the prince's sweet, tight ass...right when that was exactly the worst thing he could do. His Highness couldn't possibly be ready to be slammed into just yet. Dustin would have to work him up slowly again.

Thank God the prince was so young: it wasn't all _that_ much longer (objectively speaking, though subjectively it felt like a long time) that he was moving under Dustin again. Dustin reached around to stroke him to hardness again and was delighted to discover he was halfway there already.

The hand on Sam's dick felt so good. His dick itself was still slick with the come that hadn't landed on the sheet, so he could fuck into Dustin's fist really smoothly. And Dustin's dick in his ass had never stopped feeling good, but now it was starting to hit his prostate some of the time again, which was awesome. Maybe Kurt had been right about Sam all this time, and he should have started taking men's cocks in his ass a long time ago. He _really_ liked it.

Dustin seemed less intent on teasing him this time. He was picking up the pace a lot less gradually now, plus he was jerking Sam off. Probably _Dustin_ was desperate to come now. Sam wasn't desperate to come this time, not yet anyway, but he saw no reason to resist the second orgasm when he felt it creeping up on him. He fucked harder into Dustin's fist and at the last moment asked, "You gonna come with me, babe?"

"Yes!" Yes, Dustin was more than ready to come with the prince, to come _in_ the prince as his muscles clamped down on his cock for the second time. It was such a relief to let go, to fill the prince's narrow channel with his come.

Sam collapsed face-first onto the bed, pretty much content to never move from that spot for the rest of his life. Yeah, he was lying in a pool of his own come, some of it already cool, but so what?

Dustin was getting dressed, though, so he guessed he should too. Once they were both dressed, Sam said, "You're not Darren, are you?" He wasn't sure why he said it, because he knew, but he wanted the guy to confirm it.

"No, Your Highness. Dustin."

"Right. I was just...the names are similar. You were at the ball."

"Yes, Your Highness." Dustin suddenly wished he hadn't mentioned that. What if the prince asked who invited him? And then what if he said something to David?

"Well, this was fun. You were awesome."

Dustin got the message that it was time for him to leave. He would have liked to take a shower first—he had just realized he reeked of sex and coconuts—but the smell was probably already on his clothes anyway.

.

Elliott was talking to yet another customer who had heard about the prince's offer and wanted to know whether it was true and how he could get in on it when he saw trouble walk in the front door of his establishment. "Oh, shit," he muttered to himself, walking away from the guy who was still in the middle of talking. The worst thing was that he'd brought this on himself. Well, himself and the prince...but mostly himself, because Prince Samuel could easily handle the Count of Smythe.

"Smythe!" he called out in greeting, extending his hand. "What a surprise! I thought you were in Paris!"

The count shook Elliott's hand and handed his coat to a passing waiter. "It's good to see you," he said, "but don't pretend you're surprised."

"I am!" Elliott insisted.

"You call to tell me that Prince Samuel is bottoming for anyone and everyone and you don't expect me to show up?"

"I didn't say _anyone and everyone_. I specifically told you he's only doing it with men he's never fucked before."

"Men he's never fucked before and you. If he made an exception for you, he'll make one for me."

"I didn't say that!"

"No, of course not. You're not authorized to make any such offer, I know. I'll speak to His Highness myself. Is he here?"

Elliott didn't answer. But he may have inadvertently glanced upwards.

"Ah, I see," said Smythe. "He's in your tacky little apartment, right?" The count headed toward the stairs.

"He's _with_ someone!"

The count stopped. "Oh. Yes, that would be awkward. Very well, then, I'll wait. Does your bartender know how to make a Sazerac?"

"Why? So you can copy the recipe and try to class up _your_ dive? By the way, you're going to be waiting for a while. There are three other guys in line ahead of you."

"Does any of them have a title higher than count?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Then I'm jumping the line."

.

Jake and Ryder were standing at attention out in the hallway. They'd been expecting Dustin since shortly after the first time Prince Samuel screamed. They hadn't been expecting to hear him come a second time. When they did, Jake had whispered, "Maybe he found Darren!" and Ryder whispered back, "I doubt it." He hoped not anyway. This Dustin guy didn't look like anything special—he clearly wouldn't make His Highness happy.

The guy came out—finally!—and he looked...he almost looked remorseful. As well he should be! He had no business toying with Prince Samuel's emotions, trying to pass himself off as Darren...Okay, Ryder knew the guy didn't know about all that, but still. Still he probably knew, on some level, that he was taking unfair advantage of the prince.

"Sir, your shoe is untied," Jake informed him.

"Damn it!" Dustin said. He knelt to tie it. While he was down there, Ryder held out his cell phone, and when Dustin looked up at him, it struck him where he recognized the guy from. The ball! He'd had a mask on at the time, but Ryder was certain this was the guy who he'd seen from the same angle, kneeling in the middle of the ballroom with the prince's tailor! Which meant this scumbag was _engaged_! Or pre-engaged, or whatever Señor Martinez had called it. 

Ryder wasn't going to tell the prince—not unless it turned out he somehow still thought this guy was Darren—but he was damn sure going to let this Dustin guy know he knew. He waited until the guy started down the stairs and then called after him, "By the way, congratulations, Mr. Goolsby! Señor Martinez told me the good news!" Dustin hesitated for a moment. Then, without turning around to acknowledge even having heard, he flew down the rest of the stairs.

Elliott was trying to watch for Dustin, but he also had a bar to run, and by the time he spotted him, Smythe was already halfway up the back staircase. Elliott has to ditch _another_ patron mid-conversation to run after him. He found him at the top of the stairs, flirting with one of the guards. 

"I heard the prince hired a hunky new guard since my last visit," he was saying to Ryder. "If I'd known how hunky I would've come back a lot sooner."

Ryder stood there impassively. Jake, however, said, "I see you haven't changed, Seba-...Lord Smythe."

"Not a bit," Smythe said. "And my invitation to you still stands, too, if you ever want to take a walk on the gay side. I'm not even underage anymore."

"Thank you, sir. I'll keep it in mind."

Jake turned to Mr. Gilbert. "Did you send Lord Smythe up to..." he started uncertainly. The count definitely didn't qualify as someone the prince had never had sex with. Mr. Gilbert had to know that, right?

"No, I absolutely did not! He barged up here all on his own."

"That's true," Lord Smythe said with a smile. "Mr. Gilbert failed to extend me the courtesy of inviting me up to say hello to my old friend, the prince. But tell him I'm here, won't you? I came all the way from Paris."

Ryder looked to Jake, who nodded. It was possible His Highness wouldn't want to see the count, but he wouldn't want to not be told he was there. Jake knocked and, not getting an answer, opened the door slightly. He heard the shower running. He asked Lord Smythe to wait and walked inside. "Your Highness?" he called from outside the bathroom door. "It's Jake."

"Did Elliott send the next guy up already?" the prince called back. "I was going to call him when I was ready."

"Not exactly, Your Highness, but there is someone here. I can wait until you're done."

The water stopped a minute later and soon after that the prince, wearing only a towel, opened the bathroom door. "Can you hand me my pants?" he asked. "Who is it?"

"The Count of Smythe, Your Highness."

"Dude, are you shitting me?"

"No, Your Highness." 

Jake looked away, trying to locate the prince's pants, and while his head was turned the prince rushed out into the hallway, still in just his towel. "Sebastian!" he exclaimed, right before he engulfed the count in a bear hug. "My God, I haven't seen you in forever! What are you doing here?"

"I didn't invite him, Your Highness!"

The prince looked at Mr. Gilbert with evident confusion. "It's fine, Elliott. Me and Sebastian go way back."

"'Me and Sebastian'!? What would Mr. Carlisle say if he could hear you?"

"He wouldn't say shit because we ain't English-teacher-and-student no more, we're prince-and-subject. Jesus, Sebastian, come on in!"

Jake, meanwhile, had found the prince's clothes. "Your pants, Your Highness," he said, holding them out.

"Huh? Oh, thanks, Jake. You can just put them down wherever."

Jake laid them on the bed and retreated to the hallway.

Sebastian couldn't take his eyes off Sam in that little towel. Jesus Christ, he had missed this sight. In high school Sam had been remarkably well built for his age, but now he was even hotter. Sam casually _dropped_ the towel then, and Sebastian forced himself not to stare. Just a tiny peek before the pants went on. Holy fuck. And the fact that the apartment—and Sam himself, Sebastian was pretty sure—smelled like coconut was doing nothing to help Sebastian act cool. He knew perfectly well what Sam used coconut oil for.

"So why _are_ you here?" Sam asked, pulling his shirt on. "I mean, I'm happy to see you, just...you couldn't be bothered to come to my ball, but you show up now? Or wait...did you go to the ball, even though you RSVPed regrets?"

"No, I wasn't there, and I do regret it badly now. I wish I could have gotten in on your...experimental phase? I wish I could have gotten in on it earlier. I have to admit it rankles a bit that _Elliott_ got to be first."

"Wait, _that's_ why you're here!?"

"Yes, of course! You're finally bottoming and you thought I _wouldn't_ be interested?"

"How did you even hear about that?"

"Elliott called me."

"He what!? God damn it, I _told_ him I'm only doing it with guys I've never fucked."

"Yeah, he told me that. But _Sam_." Sebastian was technically supposed to call Sam "Your Highness" now, but he wanted to remind him of how close they'd once been. Besides, he still thought of him as Sam. "Sam, I was your first. You knew I always wanted to top, but I never pushed—"

"You pushed a little."

"Fine, I pushed a little, but I respected that you didn't think it was appropriate for a prince to take it. But now that you don't apparently have those qualms anymore, now that you're taking it from strangers...why _wouldn't_ you want to let me?"

"It's not that I don't want to. It's just that...there are so many guys I _haven't_ already had sex with, and if I include everyone I already _have_...I mean, that's a lot more to include, and it would be such a waste of time."

Sebastian stood up a little straighter. "Pardon me, Your Highness, if I never thought our time together was _wasted_."

"I didn't mean it like that, Sebastian. There are just potentially so many guys to get through and—"

"But why? And what's the rush? And why would you make an exception for Elliott and not for me?"

"Because...You know what, Sebastian? I have my reasons, and I don't have to explain them to you."

"I see, Your Highness. I apologize if I was out of line."

"Well...you were. But don't worry about it. We're old friends, like you said. I'd love to receive you at the palace tomorrow morning. We can have coffee and catch up, if you're free."

"Yes, I'm free." He'd traveled home just to see the prince; it wasn't as if he had other plans.

"Great. Talk to Jake...no, talk to Ryder, and he'll put something in my calendar. Now if you'll excuse me. There's some stranger waiting to fuck me."


	8. Hopelessly Devoted to Prince Samuel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't remember who Benjamin was on Glee: He was the NYADA student who resigned as Cassandra July's TA in "The New Rachel," paving the way for Brody to be her new TA. 
> 
> The Trent mentioned in this chapter is _not_ the Trent from canon.

Elliott had wanted to explain, to make sure Prince Samuel really knew that he did not tell Smythe that he could fuck him, but he'd been basically shooed away before he got the chance. Maybe it was just as well, though. The prince would have no doubt asked the obvious question: _Why did you call him in the first place?_ And really the only answer was that he'd wanted to brag. It was a thing he and Smythe did with each other: gloat. But Prince Samuel might not like that Elliott's gloating in this case had involved him. And that sucked. Especially since the prince was already not happy with him for sending up someone older than he wanted. Someone older and—if Elliott was being honest—very unlikely to qualify as "almost a virgin" under any reasonable definition.

Another customer approached him to ask if the rumor going around the club was true. Elliott already had several guys lined up, and he didn't want to deal with another right now. But this guy looked pretty young—younger than the others in line—so he confirmed it, specifying, "He's only looking for guys who he hasn't already had sex with."

"Ha, I wish!" Benjamin had just moved to the capital. Out in the province he was from, no one had any idea Prince Samuel was even gay. "Has he actually had sex with lots of men?"

Elliott laughed. "You could say that. But he's looking for guys who..." Elliott knew he had to start screening the guys better, but he couldn't bring himself to use the phrase _almost a virgin_. He remembered a better phrase the prince had just used: "He wants guys who are not very experienced."

"Experienced?"

Elliott suppressed an exasperated sigh. "At fucking other men."

"Oh, that!" Benjamin blushed. "No, I..." He'd only ever topped once before, and it was a total disaster. It was why Trent ran off to go to business college in the capital, Benjamin was pretty sure. That's why he was here: to win Trent back. And why he was _here_ , specifically, at this gay bar, was to try to pick up a man to fuck. Duffy had told him he had to butch the hell up if he wanted another chance with Trent. Butch the hell up and learn how to fuck a guy without...well, what had happened before. The fact that on his very first night of trying, the prince himself was inviting commoners to fuck him...well, obviously it was a sign. Benjamin didn't use to believe in signs or any kind of weird or "magical" stuff, but obviously that was before he met Duffy.

"So...you're not?" Elliott asked. "You kind of trailed off."

"Oh, sorry. No. I've only ever done that once." He wasn't going to share the humiliating details unless he was specifically asked.

"Really?" Elliott asked, not quite believing his luck. If it was true, this guy was like the exact definition of "almost a virgin." "Just one time?"

"Is that okay?"

"Are you kidding? It's perfect! Wait, let me see your ID." After last night's incident he'd made all his bouncers sit through training on spotting fake IDs and threatened to fire anyone who fucked up again, but he wanted to make sure. Luckily Benjamin's checked out. "You're next." 

.

Sunshine was nothing like Blaine pictured the type of girl Dani would go for. He guessed he had pictured someone more like Dani herself, but Sunshine was very...boyish. Butch—like with very short hair and boy clothes including a tie—but also super short—under five feet probably—and baby-faced. The bouncer at the karaoke bar scrutinized the hell out of her ID before letting them in.

But, holy crap, that tiny, boyish lesbian could sing! She absolutely killed a couple Adele songs, earning a standing ovation from the audience, who mostly weren't paying attention when anyone before her sang. Dani was swooning. Blaine decided there was no way he was going on after her.

"That was amazing!" Blaine said when she rejoined them at their table. "You should sing professionally!"

"Oh, thanks," she said. "I hope to, actually."

"Sunshine was studying at the royal conservatory, but she had to drop out because of the tuition," Dani said.

"Oh my God, that sucks!"

Sunshine shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm going to go back as soon as I've saved enough. I'm making money now coaching rich kids to prepare for their auditions."

"Really? I actually...well, before I heard _you_ just now I was thinking of applying."

"You can't afford to go there, Blaine!" Dani said. "I mean, no offense, but I have a pretty good idea how much you make, and I know your stepmother isn't willing to help, so..."

Blaine told them about the discovery about his dad. Dani was, if anything, more outraged on Blaine's behalf than Blaine himself had been. "You _have_ to go now, Blaine!" she insisted. "You can't let her win!"

"Believe me, I don't want to let her win. But I don't even have any reason to believe they'd accept me."

"Well, go sing something," Sunshine said. "If I think you have a chance I'll help you. No charge!"

Blaine hesitated. "You won't just say I'm good just to be nice?"

Sunshine laughed. "I wouldn't tell a paying customer they didn't have a chance. And I wouldn't tell my girlfriend's friend he sucks just to be 'honest' or whatever. But I'm not going to offer my professional services for free if it's hopeless, so yeah, if you're not gonna get in even with my help, I'll tell you that."

So Blaine decided _what the hell_ and got up and sang "Hopelessly Devoted to You." He thought he sounded okay, actually, considering how long it had been since he had really practiced. But he _had_ been out of practice for a while, so he was nervous about hearing Sunshine's opinion when he rejoined the table.

"I've helped way worse singers get in," she said, "but you need to rehearse. Like a lot."

"Yeah," Blaine said sadly.

"Dude, did you not hear the part about how it's totally doable? _With_ practice? If you want my help, that is, and I'll only do it if you're really serious, and I'll have to work you in around my paying customers, but...yeah, you definitely have a shot." 

"Um...yeah. Yeah, I'm serious!" Blaine hadn't realized it until that very moment, but he _was_ serious.

"Great!" She punched him in the arm and stood up. To Dani she said, "Sweetheart, would you excuse me? I have to go to the little boys' room."

When she was gone, Blaine raised his eyebrows questioningly at Dani. "Oh, shut up," Dani said. "She just says that as a joke."

"Well, she seems great. You can't break up with her now, you know, cause then she'd make me pay for her coaching."

"Shut up, why would I want to break up with her? She's so great, don't you think she's great?"

"I think she's great."

"Yeah," Dani agreed dreamily. "But what about you? What was with that song? Are you hung up on someone you haven't even told me about?"

"It's just a song, Dani."

"It didn't sound like just a song. Not the way you sang it."

"Fine. You caught me. I'm hopelessly devoted to Prince Samuel."

Dani shook her head sympathetically. "We need to find you a real boyfriend, babe."

.

Not having regular sex with Sam sucked. However, Kurt _was_ enjoying watching Sam get fucked over and over. Elliott fucking him had been hot. Spencer fucking him had been super hot. Kurt wasn't actually supposed to enjoy seeing his godchildren get hurt, but Sam hadn't _really_ been hurt. Anyway, every guy so far had had his charms, but none of them had Kurt as excited as when Sebastian showed up.

Sebastian had always been one of Kurt's favorites of Sam's lovers. As in, a favorite to watch Sam with and a favorite for Kurt himself to fuck. Or rather, be fucked by. Sebastian was weird about bottoming just like Sam was, but since he wasn't Kurt's godchild, it wasn't Kurt's job to try to convince him to expand his horizons. 

So Kurt was furious to see Sam _turn down_ what might have been the best fuck of his life. Okay, he knew Sam would still say "Darren" was the best, but if he could be objective about it—and if he had given him a chance, for fuck's sake—he would probably have to say Sebastian. This wasn't even about Kurt's personal frustration at not getting to watch. It was a tiny bit about that, maybe, but mostly it was about the amazing experience Sam was denying himself. How the hell was Sam ever going to accept that he was a gay man who liked to take it in the ass if he didn't let one of the best assfuckers out there have a crack at him? Kurt was just about to pop in and explain all this when Elliott showed up with the next guy.

.

Elliott spoke to the prince while the guards were checking out the almost-virgin, Benjamin. "He's nineteen, Your Highness. And he specifically told me that he's only ever fucked one guy."

"Great, Elliott. Thanks."

Prince Samuel barely looked at him. It was killing Elliott to know the prince was so displeased with him. "Your Highness, if you'll please let me apologize. It was completely out of line for me to call the Count of Smythe, and I—"

"It's fine," Sam said. He really wished Elliott _hadn't_ called him, because saying no to Sebastian had sucked. But Elliott hadn't actually done anything _wrong_. "I asked you to spread the word, right?"

"Yes, Your Highness." That was true. He'd specifically asked him _not_ to be discreet!

"And it's probably good that he knows. Maybe he'll let me use his place by Corner Pocket." Sam didn't add _if I don't find Darren tonight_ because he felt it was almost impossible that he'd be that lucky.

"Probably, Your Highness, if that's what you want." Corner Pocket was the gay bar the count owned. He didn't manage it himself, but he did keep an apartment nearby. A full apartment, much nicer than Elliott's little one-room above Starchild. Of course, Corner Pocket itself was totally seedy, nothing like Starchild. Elliott wondered if the prince's threatening to go there instead was an indication of just how displeased he actually was with him, despite saying he wasn't. "Shall I send Benjamin in?"

"Yeah, thanks." Sam knew he should be happier about this Benjamin guy. Nineteen years old, confirmed almost-virgin. Sam needed to stop thinking about Sebastian and start thinking about this guy who could really be Darren!

Benjamin actually looked a little like Darren. He had roughly the same hair color anyway. And his skin tone was...

No. Sam wasn't going to try to analyze the details of how Benjamin looked or talked or acted. He didn't have any time to waste. That was why he'd sent Sebastian away, right? "I hope you don't mind if we get right to it," he said. "I'm already _ready_."

"Yes, sir...uh, Your Highness." Benjamin had bowed when the bar owner presented him, but he wondered if he had to keep doing it every so often. Just to be safe, he bowed again now. To be safe and, maybe, to stall a little because...well, _he_ wasn't ready. He'd expected there to be foreplay! At least fingering and lubing. He'd never gotten himself ready in advance for another guy to just start fucking right away...and no guy he'd been with had ever complained about that. Was it something you were supposed to do? Maybe he just didn't know any better because he was a hick from the provinces. Shit, how was he supposed to just get hard on command? Not that the prince wasn't hot or anything but now he was all nervous, which wasn't helping!

Sam took off his clothes again. Maybe he'd start just wearing a robe in between guys. Or at least a shirt without buttons. Damn, why was he assuming this was going to keep going on? Benjamin could be Darren, he reminded himself! He was the right age, he'd only had sex once...

And he was still dressed. Sam got his clothes off and saw he wasn't even hard yet! That was weird. Well, it was weird if he was Darren. It was weird if he was Darren and if Darren felt the way about Sam that Sam felt about him. Though Sam had to admit this encounter wasn't exactly romantic like at the ball. Darren was probably into romance more than just sex. Sam was going to have to figure out how to be romantic; he'd never done that before.

But not tonight; not when he wasn't even sure this was Darren. He sat on the edge of the bed and sucked Benjamin's dick until it was hard. And he tried not to notice how it felt and tasted _nothing_ like Darren's. It wasn't like there was anything _wrong_ with it; it was a totally fine dick. Just not Darren-like.

Oh, okay! This was the foreplay, then. A prince was going down on him, wow! And he was really good at it, too. This wasn't going to be nearly as hard...as _difficult_ as Benjamin had feared. He just had to not think about how amazing Prince Samuel's cock looked and how incredible it would feel in his ass. Or, wait, maybe he _should_ think about it, maybe imagining them doing it that way would help him stay hard while...No! There was no way he was not going to stay hard. He had to stop even considering that as a possibility.

Prince Samuel let Benjamin's cock out of his mouth pretty much as soon as it was fully hard. Benjamin tried not to be too disappointed by that. It was hard... _difficult_ not to be a little disappointed, though. Having the prince suck him off would have been almost as good as having the prince fuck him. But he got to fuck the prince, which was even better (supposedly)! Because he _was_ butch enough, and he _could_ top a guy successfully. Especially when the guy in question was the hottest royal not just in this kingdom but any on earth. 

Oh, God. Benjamin was going to try to top _royalty_? What the hell was he thinking!?

Thinking, that was his problem. Less thinking, more fucking, as Duffy would tell him. Prince Samuel was on his hands and knees, just waiting to take his cock. Benjamin just had to stand...kneel? No, Prince Samuel's knees were right on the edge of the bed, so there wouldn't be room for Benjamin to kneel behind him...so, yeah, _stand_ behind the prince, between his legs, and put it in. (How did guys who topped all the time figure out the logistics?)

"You ready, Benjamin?"

"Yes, Your Maj-...Highness." Yep, he was ready. As ready as he'd ever be, he guessed. He stood behind the prince, and he had to kind of bend his knees a little bit, but it wasn't too hard... _difficult_ to get himself lined up. He just held his dick up to the prince's asshole and guided it in with his hand. The prince opened up for him nice and smoothly—it was easy! Easy and _good_ , like jerking himself, but tighter and hotter. Although he usually liked to shove a dildo up his ass before he jerked off...

This was not Darren. Sam was sure of it immediately. He knew he hadn't really had an open mind with Benjamin, that if Benjamin had come to him _before_ Sebastian he'd be focusing on all the promising signs, but...but Kurt had said that when Darren's dick was in him again he'd know. And he didn't know. It didn't feel like anything, really, except some random dick up his ass. He just hoped Benjamin was going to finish soon so he could move on to the next guy.

Benjamin was messing it up again. Prince Samuel wasn't enjoying it at all, he could tell. He wasn't moving or making any noises. Oh God, Benjamin was the worst top in the world. 

Wait, was Benjamin done already? It was what Sam had wanted, but he didn't even feel him come. He was definitely pulling out, though. Sam looked over his shoulder to see if the guy was just trying to switch to a different position. 

That wasn't it. The guy either _had_ come already—without Sam noticing—or he had just lost his hard-on. He was crying, and when he saw Sam look at him he covered his face with his hands and went from crying to sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Your Highness!" he said...or at least that's what Sam gathered he was trying to say. 

"Hey, it's okay." Sam stood and put an arm around his shoulder. That didn't help much, so he wrapped both arms around him and held him until he wasn't sobbing so hard. He felt terrible. He was the one who'd been distracted and aloof, and now this poor kid was blaming himself for the sex not being good. "It's not your fault, I was—"

"I guess I'm not cut out to top," Benjamin said haltingly. "I can try again if you...Oh, who am I kidding? I'm always going to be a bottom!"

"You're a bottom? There's nothing wrong with that, you know." A lot of Sam's favorite men were strictly bottoms.

Benjamin covered his mouth, realizing he'd just insulted the prince, who was apparently a bottom too. So wait, maybe it _wasn't_ so bad. Except... "Yeah, but Duffy told me I had to learn to top if I wanted Trent to like me again."

Sam had no idea what to say about that...not having a clue who Duffy and Trent were. "Well...maybe if Trent only likes to bottom too, but..."

"Oh, no. He's fucked me a bunch of times, and it was awesome."

Wait, hadn't this guy supposedly only had sex once before!? Sam guessed that didn't matter right now, though. "So then...what's the problem, exactly?"

"Well, Duffy said—"

"Wait, who's Duffy?"

"Duffy's my cat."

"Your cat."

"Yeah. Well, sort of mine. He was a stray, but now he lives with me."

"And he has an opinion on your sex life?"

"Oh, yeah. He's a talking cat."

"Okay. How does that make him an expert on your relationship with Trent?"

"Well, like...he talks. So he's magic?"

"Yeah, but does he have a boyfriend? Is he even gay?"

"No. I mean, he's neutered, so..."

"So what the hell does he know? It sounds to me like your cat just likes to hear himself talk. Just tell him if you want his opinion on mice or something you'll ask for it, and otherwise he should shut the fuck up. Look, if you _want_ to top more, you should go for it. And don't let tonight discourage you, because I was...well, hardly the ideal partner. Meanwhile why don't you call Trent and ask him to come over and fuck your brains out?"

Benjamin sniffled. He felt like he should be embarrassed, but he really wasn't. Especially since the prince didn't even seem to think he was crazy because of the talking cat thing, which most people did. "Thank you, Your Highness. If you didn't already have a job you'd make a really great advice columnist or something."

.

Kurt appeared the second Benjamin was gone. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Thinking of calling it a night, if you must know." It was still early, and he'd really only been properly fucked once, but he just wasn't in the mood anymore.

"What the hell were you thinking, sending _Sebastian_ away? Just so you'd have more time to let that crazy twink attempt and fail to fuck you? How was _that_ guy better than Sebastian?"

"It's not Benjamin's fault he's not Sebastian. He seemed like a sweet kid."

"He claims to have a _talking cat_ , Sam! That's some psycho shit."

"...said the actual fairy," Sam said.

"Fairies are real. Talking cats are not!"

Sam shrugged. He actually thought there was a good chance they were real—Quinn's friend Brittany used to tell him stories about her cat when he was younger, and she swore they were true and not just made-up children's stories—but he didn't much care either way.

"Don't shrug at me. Fairies have a rich and ancient culture, which you're one of the few privileged humans to even get a glimpse of, whereas the idea of a common housecat that can talk is just so absurd that...that..."

"Fine. Benjamin is crazy and talking cats don't exist. Is that why you're here?"

Kurt took a deep breath. Talking cats indeed! But Sam was right, that wasn't why he was here. "I'm here to yell at you about Sebastian! How could you send him away? Have you lost your damn mind?"

"What, you think I _wanted_ to send him away?" Sam never would have admitted it back in high school, not even to himself, but he'd _always_ wanted Sebastian to fuck him. At least once he learned from Kurt that taking it could feel amazing. "But if I'm ever going to find Darren—"

"Aha! You admit you wanted Sebastian to fuck you."

"Yes, of course. That's not the point. The point is—"

"It _is_ the point, Sam. And let me tell you this: this whole... _thing_ you're doing here? It is not going to work if you keep turning men away, especially men whose dicks you really want!"

"What...what are you saying, Kurt?"

But Kurt had already disappeared.

. 

Blaine didn't work at the bookstore until noon, but he got up at his usual time to make breakfast for Shelby. He hadn't been planning to. When he'd agreed to go out with Dani and her girlfriend last night, it had been with the thought that he could sleep in the next morning, because he was done being Shelby's personal servant. 

But he'd reconsidered in the meantime. He didn't want to make Shelby suspicious...or at least more suspicious than she probably already was after the last couple days. Hopefully if he went back to acting like normal, she'd assume it had all been a fluke. In fact, if she asked him about it, he was prepared to explain he'd just been upset over seeing Jesse and Rachel go to the ball when he couldn't. He'd apologize, even, if necessary. But _only_ if necessary.

As soon as Shelby left for work, Blaine poured himself the last of the extra-strong coffee and took it with him to the attic. That is, he intended to take it with him to the attic, but when he realized it would be difficult to climb up the little ladder without spilling, he drank it all in a few gulps and left the mug on the hallway floor.

He'd never actually been in the attic before. He'd never had much desire to, and his childhood curiosity about what it was like up there had been replaced by fear of the bats Shelby told him lived there. He didn't see any bats now. If there actually were any—if Shelby hadn't just made that up to scare him—they'd be asleep now anyway, right? And he wasn't planning to be loud enough to disturb them (if they existed); he just needed to find his dad's old papers, something that proved he had worked at the royal conservatory. He knew Shelby hadn't kept much of his dad's, but there had to be _some_ papers, right? And since he had never seen any—and he was the one who did all the cleaning and knew where everything was stored everywhere else in the house—they had to be in the attic. Right?

Well, there were a lot of boxes up here. And they weren't labeled well, so he just had to kind of look through all of them. He found tons of mementos from Jesse and Rachel's childhoods and other random junk. Just before he had to give up for the day, he found a sealed envelope that said "MATT'S INSURANCE" on it. He almost didn't even take it with him, since he knew Shelby had already long ago spent the money. But then he realized the policy might have been issued by the conservatory, or might at least have listed it somewhere as his employer, so he figured it was worth taking with him and looking at on his break.

.

Sebastian showed up at the palace feeling pretty confident. He was usually able to get what he wanted from men. In fact, if it had been anyone other than Sam, he would just be _confident_ , no need to qualify it with _pretty_. But it _was_ Sam, it was _Prince_ Samuel, so...

The hunky new guard met him in the grand hall. Maybe if Sam insisted on being a stubborn ass, Ryder could be a consolation prize. The guy hadn't said much, but Sebastian was almost certain he was gay.

Ryder led him to a salon with a large balcony that overlooked the gardens. "His Highness will be here soon, sir. Please have a seat."

"Thank you, Ryder." Sebastian placed his hand on the guard's shoulder. The guard's _muscular_ shoulder. "You've been very kind." Ryder didn't say anything in response, but the way he tensed up under the touch told Sebastian everything he needed to know. It wasn't the tensing of someone who didn't like being touched; on the contrary, it was the tensing of someone who didn't want to betray how much he _did_ like it.

Ryder left, and Sebastian sat near the table where all the coffee things had been laid out. He wondered vaguely if the coffee was going to get cold. He had a feeling Sam was going to keep him waiting a while, just because he could. But Sam surprised him by coming in just a minute or two later. Sebastian stood and bowed...or he started to bow anyway, but Sam said, "Hey, come on, none of that!" and wrapped him up in a hug instead. A very close hug. Before Sebastian could really process what was happening, Sam kissed him and breathed heavily into his ear. "Do you still want me?"

"God, yes!" Sebastian answered. He had no idea what had changed Sam's mind—it wasn't his powers of seduction because he hadn't even said a word—but he had the feeling this wasn't the time to ask. Unless..."You're not just messing with me, right? You're not going to want to top at the last minute?"

Sam started untying Sebastian's tie. "I want you inside me."

"Fuck, Sam, I've wanted this for so long. I've thought about it so many times..."

Sam backed up enough to look Sebastian in the eye. "But you only get to do it _once_." Kurt really hadn't left him any choice about letting Sebastian do it _once_. Kurt's comment that the whole thing wouldn't work if Sam turned guys away...Sam had been going over that in his head all last night and all this morning, and really the only way he could take it was as a threat that if he didn't let Sebastian (and any other guy who wanted to!) fuck him, Kurt was going to interfere somehow and make it so he would never find Darren. And Sam didn't actually _mind_ —at least not with Sebastian, who he had wanted to get fucked by for a long time—but he still wasn't going to do it more than he had to. He just hoped Sebastian wasn't getting his hopes up for anything more than that. "You know it's just once, right?"

"If that's what you want," Sebastian said. He didn't know why it had to be only one time—he would gladly fuck Sam every day from now until they were both old and decrepit—but he would take what he could get. Besides, who was to say Sam wouldn't later change his mind on this point as well?

Sam pulled off his sweater and started on the buttons to Sebastian's shirt.

"We're doing this here?" Sebastian asked. Normally he wouldn't care _where_ they did it, but if Sam actually was serious about this being the only time... "Can't we go to your bedroom?"

"No!" Sam liked Sebastian a lot, and he would do stuff for him that he wouldn't do for most guys, but there was no way he was ever again letting anyone else in his own bed besides Darren. "Don't worry, no one will disturb us here. Ryder's just outside."

"No, I'm not worried, I just..." Sebastian knew he shouldn't press his luck with special requests. But all these years he'd been picturing this moment a very specific way. "Remember back in school, we tried a few different positions at first, but then when you found your favorite that was how you fucked me pretty much every time?"

"Heh, yeah. I wasn't great at variety back then. But if you could have seen how hot you looked like...oh! You want to bend me over the edge of the bed?"

"I'm sure you'll look at least as hot as I did that way."'

Sam laughed. "I don't know about that, but..." So Sebastian was feeling nostalgic? Sam knew just the room to take him to. "Follow me."

Sebastian followed as Sam strode shirtless out into the hall, not even having bothered to pick up the sweater he'd dropped on a chair.

In the hallway they ran into Princess Quinn and, holding her mother's hand, Princess Matilda. (At least Sebastian thought the girl looked too young to be Princess Beth, but then he was rarely around children.) Tie loose and shirt partially unbuttoned, he bowed and said, "Good morning, Your Highnesses."

Princess Quinn didn't even act surprised or seem to notice what state he and the prince were in. She shook his hand and said, "Sebastian? It's lovely to see you again. Last I heard you were in Paris. How is it there?"

Sebastian started to answer but Sam asked his sister to please excuse them and pulled him away by the hand.

"Well, that was awkward," Sebastian said once they were out of earshot.

"What was? Oh, you mean seeing Quinn? Nah, she doesn't suspect anything."

"You're not wearing a shirt," Sebastian pointed out.

"Yeah, but Quinn's oblivious to that kind of stuff. She probably just thinks I spilled coffee on my sweater or something."

"Okay." Sebastian had a hard time believing Princess Quinn was _that_ oblivious. She was a married woman with three children, after all. But he wasn't about to challenge Sam's beliefs on the innocence of his sister.

Sam led him around a corner and up some stairs and around another corner and down a hallway. Sebastian had never been to this part of the palace before—in fact, this was the first time he'd been to any private part of the palace—but this hallway seemed somehow familiar. He realized why when Sam opened the bedroom door. "It looks just like..." It was all the same: the layout of the furniture, the blue-and-red décor... "Your bedroom looks just like our old dorm rooms!?"

Sam laughed. "This isn't my bedroom. My grandfather decorated a couple guest rooms like this when he sent my father to the academy. You know, for his friends from school to stay in when they visited."

"Um...wow. So it's true that the academy has never redecorated the dorm rooms."

"Not since my father was a student, at least," Sam confirmed.

Sebastian wondered why he'd never heard of these dorm-like rooms at the palace. "Did you have friends from school visit you here a lot?" He hoped the question didn't sound jealous.

"No. Never, in fact. Quinn used to—there are rooms that look like the girls' academy dorm rooms, but they're in a different wing, obviously—but I just...Honestly, I didn't want my parents to find out the kind of things I was doing with you and the other guys, so it just seemed safer not to invite anyone."

"So...this is kind of like a second chance for both of us. A chance for you to not worry about what His Majesty thinks, and a chance for me to have you the way I've always wanted you."

"I guess," Sam said. 

"You guess?"

"I mean I already don't worry about my father finding out anymore—and I know where he's likely to be and how to avoid him—but...it is a second chance for me too. I mean...tell anyone this and I'll deny it, but I've always wanted you this way too."

"Then why the hell..." No. Sebastian wasn't going to ask. He didn't want to talk anymore right now. He grabbed Sam and kissed him hard, and Sam kissed him back with equal force. Soon they had removed each other's clothes, and Sebastian laid Sam down on his back.

Sam looked up at Sebastian, who was on top of him now. "I thought you wanted to take me the way I used to take you."

"I do," Sebastian said, "And I'm going to." He kissed him again, grinding against him as he did. "But don't you remember? The guy who's about to get fucked gets blown first. It's only fair."

"You don't have to..." Wait, what the hell was Sam saying? Sure, it wasn't _necessary_ , but Sebastian gave really good blow jobs. "But, I mean, if you want to..."

Sebastian kissed Sam's neck and said, "I thought so." Sam couldn't see his face but was certain he was smirking.

Sebastian took his time kissing and licking and sucking his way down Sam's body toward his crotch. Sam was impatient at first, until he remembered that there was no next guy waiting for his turn, that he really could just lie back and enjoy this—which was nice, because Sebastian had gotten even better at this since high school. He had Sam moaning way before reaching his dick. And when he did reach his dick...Jesus.

Sam's dick was as great as ever. Sebastian wished he hadn't been so concerned with whether things were "fair" in high school and had spent more time blowing Sam, because even when Sam didn't reciprocate, it was pretty great. He was in no hurry to make Sam come yet, and he licked and teased and tasted and played for...well, for as long as Sam could stand it before he grabbed the back of Sebastian's head, held it in place, and said, "Please suck." He sucked, and Sam started thrusting up into his mouth. Sebastian held his hips down because he really wanted to be the one in charge this time, but he sucked harder to make up for Sam's lack of ability to thrust.

Sam needed to come. He needed to come and he needed to _thrust_ , but he couldn't thrust and that somehow made him need to come even more. With his hips pinned to the mattress and his fingernails scratching at Sebastian's scalp, Sam gasped as his release overtook him.

Sebastian sucked up Sam's come eagerly, overwhelmed by the familiar taste and feel of it. He swallowed the last few drops, then kissed his way back up Sam's chest and neck. Resting his forehead against Sam's, he said, "I could so get used to this again."

"Sebastian, don't..." Sam said, placing his hand gently on the back of his friend's neck.

"No, no, I get it. One-time deal, whatever. I mean, it's your loss."

"Totally." Sam kissed him lightly. "Do you still want to fuck me?"

"You don't really think you have to ask, do you?" Sebastian's question was even more rhetorical than Sam's, and he didn't wait for a response before flipping the prince onto his stomach. There it was. The ass he'd wanted to get inside for so long. He kissed down Sam's back, trying to go slowly and not rush things (though he had been waiting literally years already!).

Sam realized suddenly that he'd left the coconut oil in the salon. He kept some strategically stashed in various guest rooms throughout the palace, but not this one, which he had never used with a guy before. He was about to say something when he felt Sebastian's mouth on his ass, and then not on it so much as in it. "God, Sebastian."

Sebastian loved the way Sam yielded to his tongue. Not loose but pliant. As much as he loved rimming him he knew fucking him was going to be so much better. He didn't want to rush, but he couldn't wait any longer. Oh no, he'd forgotten about... "Sam, please tell me you have some of that coconut oil you like so much."

Sam groaned, in part because he'd forgotten about the oil _again_ , but mostly because Sebastian had stopped rimming him. He went to the door and opened it, knowing Ryder would be there. "Hey, man, can you do me a favor? I forgot the..." Ryder silently held out the jar Sam had left behind in the salon. Sam took it and patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks, dude. You're the best."

Sebastian noticed that Sam didn't make any attempt to cover up or stand behind the door when he talked to his guard, so Sebastian didn't try to move out of view either. Actually he was sort of hoping to catch Ryder surreptitiously checking him out, but he wore a perfect poker face.

Before Sam could rejoin him on the bed, Sebastian got up. He pressed Sam up against the door and kissed him long and hard. Sam wrapped his arms around him, letting the oil jar fall in the process. When they separated from the kiss, Sam bent over to pick up the jar (which Sebastian totally should have done—he was aware of the rules of protocol, after all), and Sebastian stood behind him and grabbed his ass. It was so tempting to just fuck him like this, but he did have his heart set on the prince being bent over the _bed_ specifically. Sam handed him the oil and moved to stand at the foot of the bed. He started to bend forward but then stop and asked, "Or do you want to push me down?"

Oh God! Sam didn't use to push him down every time, just when he was extra horny. Sebastian was kind of surprised Sam even remembered that detail, as it hadn't seemed like a big deal to him at the time. It was a big enough deal to Sebastian that he usually included it whenever he imagined turning the tables on Sam. But now it wasn't as appealing as the idea—one that Sebastian hadn't even seriously entertained until today—that Sam didn't _need_ to be pushed, that he would bend over for Sebastian willingly, even eagerly. "No," he said. "Why don't you get yourself into position for me?"

Sam lowered his upper half onto the bed and spread his legs. And then he did something that _really_ killed Sebastian: he reached back, grabbed his own ass cheeks, and exposed his hole to Sebastian. "Holy fuck," Sebastian muttered, as he started to lube up the prince's welcoming hole.

"Come on, Sebastian." Sebastian was good at this. Sam had known he would be. He'd known and he'd heard—the two of them had fucked a lot of the same guys over the years. So it wasn't that Sam wanted him to stop with his fingers, it was that he wanted him to start with his cock. "Come on, I'm ready."

"Ready? Ready seems to be an understatement. I'd say you're _desperate_ for me to fuck you. You want it bad, don't you?"

Okay. Sam knew Sebastian was on some kind of power trip from getting to fuck him, and mostly he was happy to indulge him, but it was getting to be too much. "Yeah, I want it, but if you don't want to give it to me there are hundreds of other guys who do."

Sebastian knew it, he _knew_ Sam was going to find some way to put him in his place. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness."

"Come on, Sebastian." Sam didn't actually want him to _go_. "Don't be li-... _Oh_! Oh god, that's good. Fuck, just like that!" Sebastian had filled him in one smooth motion. He really was good at this.

Ha, Sam _did_ want it just as bad as Sebastian did. Oh _God_ he felt good. Sebastian wasn't even upset any more that he wasn't Sam's first. It meant he didn't have to go slowly. He decided not to even tell Sam to tell him if it was too much. Sam wasn't some inexperienced kid who was scared to speak up for himself. And it certainly didn't seem to be too much. God, look at him, taking Sebastian's cock like a pro. His arm and back muscles were tense and he had the navy quilt bunched up in his hands, but he was bucking back against Sebastian as much as he could in his compromised position. Without _saying_ so he was basically begging for even more.

Sebastian was not letting up for a second; it was perfect. Just this side of being too intense. 

Sam started to scream into the mattress, and it was such music to Sebastian's ears. He _hoped_ it meant Sam was about to come. Sebastian was determined not to let go first, but there was only so much longer he could hold out. "That's it, come for me, Sam. _Please_ come for me." Sam's channel constricted and his body began to quake, and Sebastian thought he would die. 

And then he did die...in the Shakespearean/Cutting Crew sense. His explosive climax left him not only speechless but also breathless, and all he could do was drape himself over Sam's back and weakly kiss the back of his neck.

"It felt like you shot a ton of jizz inside me," Sam said after a minute. "As soon as you take your cock out I bet it comes gushing out."

"Then I guess I'll never take my cock out," Sebastian whispered. Whispering was all he had the breath for. "Keep you full of my jizz forever."

Sam didn't reply to that. He knew Sebastian wasn't serious, but still, why burst his bubble right away?

.

"If it isn't my favorite princess!" Finn enthused, quickly locking his computer screen when his wife and daughter entered the room unexpectedly. "Come give Daddy a hug!"

Matilda ran and jumped into her father's arms, while Quinn shook her head and said, "Darling, you can't tell each of them she's your favorite. It will turn them against each other."

"What? I can have three favorite princesses."

" _Three_?"

"Three favorite princesses and a favorite future queen."

"I'll be queen when Beth dies!" Matilda said.

"Matilda, we don't say such things," Quinn scolded her. To Finn she added, "See what you started?"

"What can I do for two of my four favorite princesses?"

Before Quinn could answer, there was a knock. Answering it, she saw it was the nanny she'd summoned. "Matilda, honey, Dottie's here to take you back to the nursery."

Matilda's face dropped. "But you said you'd take me for a walk in the garden!"

"Yes, but it's raining so we walked around inside instead. Remember?"

"But I wanted to go _outside_!"

"That's quite enough, young lady. Off you go." Dottie walked over and took her hand. "Thank you, Dottie," Quinn said as she watched the nanny lead the girl out. The crying started as soon as they were out in the hall; Quinn shut the door.

"Matilda seemed really disappointed," Finn said.

"Yes, but she'll get over it. We can't encourage that kind of back talk. I have a favor to ask you, darling."

Finn expected as much. Quinn rarely stopped by just to chat. "Anything I can do," he said.

"Sam has a man here at the palace."

"The one from the ball?"

Quinn frowned. "No, someone he went to high school with." Quinn was sure if Sebastian had been the man at the ball she would have recognized him, even with a mask. Besides, the man at the ball had been shorter than Sam, and Sebastian wasn't. "Can you talk to my brother and find out what's going on? I know he wouldn't want to talk to me about it. He thinks I've never even heard of s-e-x."

"What makes you think this high school friend's visit was about s-e-x? Maybe they were just catching up on old..." Finn saw the look his wife was giving him. "Okay, yeah, scratch that. It's your brother we're talking about. I can try talking to him, but what do you want to know, exactly? You've never been interested in the details of your brother's sex life before."

"That's because I don't care about his _sex_ life. I do care about his _romantic_ life, however. If he's giving up on the man from the ball, I want to know why and what we can do to help."

.

Sam had some charity event to get ready for, so Sebastian had to leave. Sebastian didn't mind, though. Of course he would have liked to stay in bed with Sam all day, but he knew how it was. There was charity stuff he couldn't get out of either and he was "only" a count. 

The important thing was, he knew he'd be seeing Sam again soon. They were going to be together. Sebastian had long since given up hope of it ever happening, but then they made love today and...and Sam felt it too, he knew it. Sam hadn't wanted him to move afterwards. He'd wanted to stay full of Sebastian's cock and his come forever. 

The Count of Smythe had the biggest smile on his face when His Highness finally opened the bedroom door. "Ryder will show you out," the prince said. "Thanks again for coming."

"It was my pleasure," the count said. Ryder looked at the floor while the two kissed. At least they had pants on now. Ryder was still kicking himself for not managing to slip the prince his jar of oil before...well.

The count didn't lose the goofy grin as Ryder led him away. "Ryder..." he said, putting his arm around Ryder's shoulder. 

"Yes, sir?"

"Ryder, I'm in love!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

Sebastian dropped his arm. "What!?"

Ryder covered his mouth with his hand. He couldn't believe he'd said that out loud! It was true—he really liked the count for some reason, and he didn't want to see him get his heart broken—but it was so inappropriate to _say_ anything! "Nothing."

"You don't think he feels the same way. You heard him scream for me, didn't you?"

"I apologize if it sounded like I was implying something when I clearly don't know anything and it's none of my business in any case."

"Damn right you know nothing about it."

"Yes, sir."

" _Damn_ right."

.

Dani smiled when she saw Blaine's number appear on her phone. Her mother was in the next room so she couldn't talk freely, but still. "Hi, Blaine! How are you this beautiful sunny afternoon? Don't you love the sunshine?"

"Is it sunny now?" Blaine asked. "I can't see outside from the break room but earlier it looked like it was going to rain."

Dani sighed. "Fine. But what I mean is, in general don't you love sunshine!?"

It took him a minute to catch on. "Oh yeah, she's the best. Listen, you're not gonna believe—"

"Do you want me to text you the number to call so you can start your lessons?"

"Yeah, that would be great. Listen, I was up in the attic this morning—"

"I just think it was so generous of that girl you met last night to offer to work with you!"

"Yes, but Dani, would you please shut up for a second! I just found out my father had another son!"


End file.
